Slant
by Piscean Papillion
Summary: An encounter with a meteor rock leaves Clark and Lex in a dangerously slanted situation. With these strange circumstances may come the revelation of truths perhaps best left secret, and a friendship or more on the brink of destruction. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**SUMMARY**: Chapter One Lex wakes up to find himself in a very strange situation. Is this a kidnapping gone wrong?

Not exactly.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter One**

Lex's head hurt like a bitch. That was the first thought that nuzzled its way through the sleepy fog of his brain, forcing him away from half-remembered dreams of flying and falling and freezing river water. He dreamed often about that day, but he'd never woken up with a headache because of it. A hard-on, sure, occasionally. But not a headache.

His second thought was much more disturbing. _This was not his bed_. His bed was top-of-the-line, with an automated pressure comfort system, back massager, and lush pillows that retained their plump shapes even after a night of fitful sleeping. Not to mention the fact that the sheets partially covering him were definitely not Egyptian-woven 800-count threads. No, this stuff was rougher, though not particularly scratchy. It was almost, in fact, soothing. Still, the fact that it was not his bed was the more dominating thought.

That, and the fact that he didn't feel cold. With his lack of appreciable body hair, Lex became colder at night a lot more easily than the average twenty-two year old man. Hell, more easily than the average _Homo sapien_. When you lost nearly sixty percent of your body heat through your head, and you were bald, cool weather was a true pain in the ass. His bed was consequently piled high with swan-feather down comforters imported straight from Paris. But no, right now he only had one sheet above him, and not even fully covering him at that. But he felt warm - hell, he felt _hot_.

His eyes cracked open, and he immediately winced at the sunlight pouring through from the window. He _never_ had his curtains opened in the morning. He _hated_ sunlight pouring through from the window. Proof positive that he was not only in the wrong bed, but the wrong room as well. Had he… he didn't really remember at the moment what had happened last night, but it had involved drinking. Obviously quite heavily. Perhaps one of the servants, maybe Jerome, had taken him to a guest bedroom rather than the master one? Not that _that_ made any sense. Besides, all of the guest rooms were equipped with equally expensive fare, not this (admittedly semi-comfortable) brand of sheet.

Alright. So not in his bed, not in his room, not in one of the castle's many (was it twenty-five or one hundred or some number in between? Lex could never be sure) rooms. The conclusion would naturally follow that he was not, in fact, in the castle at all, unless by some strange magic the castle had been fully renovated and re-done within, say, the twelve hours or so that he'd been asleep. It was possible, of course. Lex – or his father Lionel – could easily have ordered such a thing and had it done. But certainly Lex hadn't remembered ordering such a momentous task. Key word _was_ "remembered", but even if he had actually gotten drunk enough to do such a thing, the servants certainly wouldn't have paid it any mind. And as for Lionel - well, somehow changing around the furnishings at the castle just didn't seem dastardly enough for his father. For anyone at all, in fact, except maybe an interior decorator. Of which Lionel most certainly was _not_, judging from the state of his own home, which looked more like an ancient museum then a place where one might actually live. Not that he could make any "livable" claims of his _own_ home…

Lex was drifting, and he knew it. He needed to get a grip and try to discover if he was in any danger from this (hopefully temporary) displacement. Casually, as if he hadn't realized that the environment was out of order, he stretched on the bed. No crack of his spine. Lex _always_ stretched in the morning, and there was _always_ the crack of a readjusting spine. This was even more disturbing than the bed and the sunlight. But he didn't feel injured at all. In fact, except for the quickly receding headache, he felt pretty damn good. Excellent, in fact.

Okay. He'd assessed that he wasn't in any pain, or restrained. The door to whatever room this was could be locked, of course. He could have been kidnapped. Plenty of people had a grudge against the Luthors, whether it was because of the son or the father (or both at the same time), or just on the general principle of the thing. But Lex had plenty of intuition (what Clark might've called "gut feeling") that he wasn't in any danger. There was almost an aura around the place, practically pulsing with good wishes.

Lex must've drunken much more than he'd thought last night to have such foolish thoughts. He needed to take action, not sit and consider the soothing, cheery warmth of the foreign bedroom. Sitting up, he pushed off the covers. They were blue flannel and seemed to naturally mold themselves into an unsightly lump at the foot of the bed. He took a quick look around to further assess the situation.

It was the bedroom of a boy. It simply _had_ to be. Of course, Lex as a youth was not your normal, average boy, and he most certainly hadn't had jeans and t-shirts tossed into piles around the bed (one pile in particular looked as though it had been dragged repeatedly through mud), books stacked haphazardly on a wooden desk by a computer that was ancient by this month's (even this year's) standards, ragged posters for bands decorating his walls, or model ships hanging from the ceiling. But he'd learned from Clark a thing or two about actually being a child in the real world, one that didn't involve billions of dollars and vicious fathers, and this certainly seemed like the perfect prototype of a "real world" boy's bedroom.

Alright. So he was in a kid's – or teen's, judging by the algebra and history textbooks – bedroom. If this was a kidnapping, it was the strangest one he'd ever participated in (as an added factor to his overall peculiarity, he'd been in enough kidnappings himself to know a thing or two about them). And they usually didn't involve the kidnappers keeping him in their son's room.

Shifting his legs over, Lex pushed off the bed and landed with a thump on the wooden floor, which by all rights should have been cold (it was early November - last time he'd been awake, anyhow), but once again, he merely felt warmth. He gave a second look around. The world seemed somehow – at a slant. He didn't understand it at first, peering over at the computer, the closet, then the room's door (which didn't have a lock, thus completely negating his kidnapping theory). It felt like he was looking _down_ at things that should be level with his eyes. That made absolutely no sense at all.

Then again, very little was making sense right about now. In the back corner of his mind, Lex thought he heard a name being called, but he brushed it aside. He was really far too busy worrying about his mental and physical state of affairs at the moment. A little exploration of the place might key him into _something_, he reasoned, so he took a step away from the bed and shuffled toward the closet, still tossing off the last bits of sleepiness. It was a plain door, painted white and smothered with a poster curling slightly at the edges. It was a panorama of the solar system. Lex found himself absentmindedly admiring it in his (admittedly nerdy, at least to Clark) scientific mind.

He opened the closet door. He didn't know what he'd expected to find – it was full of clothes; jeans, flannels, jackets, while plain shoes littered the floor. It was cheap clothing, the kind that farmers might wear, and indeed there was the smell of the farm in the closet. It was a healthy sort of smell, like golden wheat and corn and grass and the cloying warm scent of a barn. A familiar smell. A smell like –

"Honey, didn't you hear me calling you?" Lex froze. That voice… that sweet, maternal voice… He turned slightly to the right, and for the first time noticed the mirror on the inside of the closet door. The reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed and wild. No. NO.

Tall.

Golden-skinned.

Muscular.

Hazel eyes.

Dark… hair?

Oh. My. God.

That was Lex's last thought before he collapsed in a pile, faintly hearing Martha Kent's "Clark!" before he passed out of the world completely.


	2. Chapter 2

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Two The night before Lex's discovery, Clark takes a walk in the woods to reflect on several things, including, most prominently, one Lex Luthor.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Two**

Clark had known right from the beginning that something weird was going to happen. He often took walks by himself, when he needed to clear his head or just be alone for a while. But he'd never felt so _compelled_ to do it, the way he had yesterday. As if something – or someone – was drawing him there. Given the wide variety of powers stemming from Smallville's many mutant citizens (and occasionally animals and plants), this could potentially be yet another catastrophe-in-the-making that Clark would somehow have to divert to prevent gruesome death or grievous destruction, all while giving the "aw, shucks" should someone question his seeming inability to stay _away_ from crime scenes. Fun.

Regardless, he had needed to get away. Ever since the deal with the red meteor rocks, making a mess of things with Lana, and trying to reconcile a Pete who knew (and could use) his only weakness against him, a walk in the woods, no matter how odd, was a perfect way to leave everything all behind.

Okay, so leaving right before an obvious thunderstorm was not the brightest thing to do. But it wasn't as if rain was going to injure him. Hell, if the forest caught on fire the worst that could possibly happen was mom having to buy a new set of clothes. Admittedly, she did that more often that she should've, but if anyone asked it was just a shrug and the explanation of the "growing boy" syndrome. Of course, if Clark grew any more he wouldn't be able to fit in through the front door (it was a fairly tight squeeze now). Still, it kept the neighbors from being too suspicious.

Lex, on the other hand…

Clark had been thinking about his best friend way too much in the past few… days? Weeks? Months? Who knew anymore? But he figured that if one's best friend was a bald, badass billionaire with a brilliant mind (lot of 'B's there), thinking about said best friend was a perfectly normal thing to do. Not that Clark had any real conception of normal, mind you, but still. Clark knew that the secret he'd been guarding since he was old enough to understand that it _was_ a secret was in definite danger of being discovered by the wickedly perceptive older man.

Clark was tired of thinking it was a bad thing. Pete had reacted a little badly at first, sure, but he'd gotten over it soon enough. But he knew how his dad felt about Lex, and if Clark came home one day and told his dad that Lex knew his secret, his dad would find a way to kill him. And Lex. Whom he'd probably run over with a tractor while cackling like a maniac.

But lately, his dad had seemed quieter, more speculative around Clark. Clark knew the red meteor rock and how he'd reacted to it were partially to blame. All those things he'd said and done - telling off that teacher – that kiss with Lana – talking about moving to a penthouse in Metropolis with Lex! God, all of those things…

He'd _wanted_ to do them. That was the trouble. If he'd just been totally insane because of the ring and saying all sorts of crazy stuff to anyone and everyone, well, yeah, then it'd be okay. But what he'd done - Clark knew that sometimes, yes, he'd wanted to look through peoples' clothes and take their money and buy whatever he wanted. But he'd hurt so many people trying to do it…

Every time Clark thought he'd gotten to terms with his powers, something new came around the corner to scare him into thinking about everything bad that could happen the moment he lost control. He could set trees on fire or destroy walls just by punching them. He could see what people tried to hide, and for God's sake, he could _float_. What if he floated right out of his room one day, and everyone saw him? What then?

He hated to admit that he was scared, but he was. Being around people was becoming more and more difficult. Sometimes he just wanted to tell the whole town and get it over with. But though he didn't know of anyone quite like Lionel Luthor, there were certainly people who wouldn't react well and would try to exploit that power, the way Roger Nixon had tried to. Of course, people like that had an unhealthy habit of turning up dead or insane. Which Clark also blamed himself for, though his parents said again and again that he shouldn't.

Okay, fine. He'd let loose a little. Taking his hands from his pockets as he walked from beneath the canopy of trees to a clear spot in the forest, he picked up a healthy-sized branch (what most other people might refer to as a log), and threw it upward. Squinting his eyes, he directed his heat vision at it, and smiled with satisfaction as it burst into flames and landed heavily in the clearing scant feet from his – well, feet. Stupid, sure. Reckless, of course. But now rain was starting to fall, as he had predicted it would, and the fire sizzled out before it could do any damage. As it smoldered, he inhaled the woodsy, dark smell and thought about all the people that he was angry at. The people who had tried to hurt him, his family, or his friends cut a wide swathe through his thoughts. Then came Lana. She could accept her beloved former boyfriend stringing up Clark like a scarecrow and leaving him to die with a green meteor rock around his neck, but the moment Clark made a mistake, "she didn't know him anymore," he was "lying to her," and a whole lot of other crap. _Well, you know what, Lana_? Clark thought angrily. _It's not my fault! _After he was done being angry with the girl, he turned to the guy.

Lex. Geez. His thoughts always seemed to come back to the guy. But he was, in a way, angry at Lex. He was angry that Lex lied to him, and even angrier still that Lex thought he was doing it for Clark's protection. But mostly he was angry that Lex just couldn't be the most trustworthy guy in the world so Clark could tell him his secret.

The storm was getting worse. Wind was beginning to whip around Clark's head, twisting his hair into tangled knots and making the tree limbs dance. Icy cold rain pelted at his face, soaking his clothes and seeping toward his skin. Of course, it didn't feel all that bad. Invulnerable skin was a pretty good thing sometimes. Of course, when he was fourteen, Pete had elucidated to him what exactly a "hickey" was and how good it was supposed to feel, and Clark, after being a little grossed out, had spent an entire afternoon mourning the fact that he could never have one. He'd seen Lex with them, though – during that brief but memorable affair with Desiree. Loads of them. Other people wouldn't have seen, but then again, other people couldn't see through the famed turtleneck sweater. He wondered if Lex had enjoyed getting them.

Distracted in his thoughts, he failed to notice the mudslide forming near the edge of the little copse of trees, where a mutant had managed to create an erosion problem by uprooting several plants (Clark had found that to be more than a little lame). With a yelp as his feet found slick mud and water, he slid down the miniature hill and landed with a splash at the bottom, covering his jeans and red wool sweater with mud. He blinked dizzily, looking around to try and find his bearings. It was darker here – he looked up, and realized that he could see very little of the trees overhead. There were, instead, _roots_? Pale, white, scraggly roots and dirt and stones.

_Hello, Kent!_ He chided himself. Obviously he'd slid right into the ground. Maybe a weak part of the forest floor caused by the extreme erosion and the massive amount of trees struggling for one space. Switching to x-ray vision, Clark surveyed the situation. Okay. He'd only fallen down a couple of feet, and slid partway under a humungous tree that had died and was slowly being pulled out of the ground by the weight of its own gravity. That was manageable. He struggled to his feet.

This was what he got by ruminating on the mystery of his best friend. Sometimes Lex just seemed like more trouble than he was worth. Clark didn't understand the guy half the time, really. If Lex thought Clark was a mystery, he should take a good, long look at himself. He didn't understand Clark, what it was like to _be _Clark, and Clark didn't understand him. Once again lost in his thoughts, Clark failed to notice the twinkling red stone dangling on the mud at the edge of his sweater, which he casually tucked into his jeans. The sharp pinprick of the stone hitting flesh would only be felt by an ordinary human being.

And Clark certainly wasn't an ordinary human being.

Superspeeding home, he tossed all of his dirty clothes into a pile on the floor, decided against the shower (he'd run straight through a rainstorm, how much cleaner could you get?), and jumped into bed. He was asleep in mere minutes. The stone, which had rolled free of him and fallen beneath the bed, glowed briefly in the dark night.


	3. Chapter 3

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Three Lex deals with the parental units, who haven't noticed anything too out of the ordinary with their son. Yet.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Are you sure you're alright, son?" Jonathan Kent stared at Lex with concerned eyes. This was a sight he was probably never going to see again in his entire life, so he made sure to absorb every single aspect of what most definitely qualified as paternal love (he'd never really experienced this himself, but judged that it was indeed real based on an educated guess).

"I… uh, yeah, umm, Dad." That was the worst, most poorly constructed sentence Lex had said since he was old enough to speak more than two words at a time. But really, it was all he could manage. And who could blame him? He was – by some unknown force or mystical power or scientific experiment or act of God – in the body of none other than Clark Kent, Smallville's own charming little boy scout and, ironically, Lex's best friend. Impossible might have been the right word had he lived anywhere other than Smallville, and certainly Lex was not immune to the oddities of this town. But he'd never been through anything so drastic as body switching!

Martha – that is, _mom_ – came around the kitchen corner and put one soft, cool hand to his forehead. Some of her red hair fell forward and brushed Lex's cheek. He suddenly felt like sobbing. If he'd blacked out in front of his own father, he probably would've gotten a lecture on weakness and "Luthors aren't afraid of anything" and how he had probably put on the stunt for attention. Here there was only concern, simple concern, and worry, and love. Dammit, Clark was the luckiest human on the planet Earth.

"You feel a little warm, sweetheart." Lex had sort of noticed that too. Apparently Clark's body didn't get cold very easily, because even though he had found himself lying on a cold wooden floor when he'd first awoken from his miniature blackout, he'd still felt warm.

"It's nothing. Really, mom, I'm fine." Lex hoped he sounded halfway convincing as Clark. He'd heard the family interacting multiple times before, and he hadn't said anything too out of the ordinary, at least not yet. But he didn't know how long he could keep up the façade - he and Clark were very different people.

"Is your vision acting up again?" she asked, sounding worried. Lex had no idea that Clark had trouble with his vision, but he went with it. What else could he do?

"Um, yeah. My eyes felt sort of funny. I suppose – I mean, _I guess_ it just messed around with me a little. But it's better now. I feel fine." _Please accept that. Please don't question me further. Even though I'm fascinated that you care, please stop asking_…

"Alright, Clark. You just be careful." Lex nodded more vigorously than perhaps he should of, and consequently nearly fell off of the stool. When he'd first sat down on it, his back had automatically found its ramrod-straight position and hands went folded carefully into the lap. When Jonathan had given him an odd glance, he'd forced himself into a slouch, and rested his heavy arms on the table. Even if he wasn't Clark Kent, he'd damn well better act like Clark Kent, at least while he was inhabiting the younger man's body. The last thing Lex needed was for Jonathan Kent to figure out that Lex had somehow taken over his son's body (Lex thought about that for a second or ten in an entirely inappropriate way). The man would be out for blood. Lex's blood. The fact that Lex's blood was currently Clark's blood was, surprisingly, a comforting thought. Jonathan wouldn't hurt him when he was Clark…

Right?

Hopefully.

Now, he needed to consider his options. It was never safe to assume anything, least of all in Smallville, but he'd hazard a guess that if _he_ was in Clark's body, than _Clark_ would be in his. So, he needed to find himself - who was, if his casual assumption was correct, Clark – and… well.

Do something.

That firmly decided, Lex struggled to form a coherent sentence without sounding the least bit like a Luthor. It wasn't as difficult as he thought it would be. "Lex asked me to come over to the castle today, if you – you guys don't mind." Jonathan frowned immediately. That was not a good sign. "Umm… I forgot to mention it you earlier. Sorry?" He tried to emulate the wide-eyed look that Clark sometimes gave him if he was trying to get his way, to one that Lex could never help but obey. He hoped the charm extended to Clark's parents.

"Well –" began Martha, glancing at Jonathan. "I suppose we don't mind. It's been a trying week for all of us. You can do your chores tomorrow."

_Chores?_

"Okay, mom, thanks!" He slid off the stool, intent on getting out of the Kent household as quickly as possible before he used a five-syllable word or made an allusion to ancient Roman history or some other definitely non-Clark idiosyncrasy. He'd made it through the kitchen and halfway out the screen door before he heard Clark's name called. Lex looked over his shoulder inquisitively.

"Yes, mom?" She had a puzzled expression on her face. Oh, god. What could he possibly have done?

"Shoes, dear?" Lex looked down. Ah. Right. Shoes.

"Thanks, mom," he said, struggling to smile. It must have been one of the mega-watt smiles that Clark was capable of, because Martha's cheeks turned a little rosy and she smiled back. Those really _were_ the most effective of Clark's many facial expressions. Lex jogged up the stairs absentmindedly, not noticing that he'd reached Clark's room in about three seconds.

After he'd awoken from his brief lapse of consciousness and been fawned over by Martha Kent, Lex had quickly come to the realization that Clark's body was clad only in a pair of plaid boxer shorts. The embarrassment of being nearly naked in front of his best friend's mother (even if he was currently in said best friend's body) was soon eclipsed by the fact that he was nearly naked and in the body of his best friend. That is, he was looking at Clark, without the cumbersome clothes he always insisted on wearing…

Thankfully he didn't follow this soon-to-become-erotic chain of thoughts until after a lot of blushing and convincing Martha that he was "okay, really" and getting her out of the room. Nothing like finding oneself with a hard-on in front of one's parents when you were sixteen years old. Hell, when you were any age. Not that he'd suffered that particular problem, but Clark would never forgive him if it had happened to _his_ parents.

It was a very troublesome thing to be thinking these thoughts about one's underage best friend, but Lex had come to terms with it in his own way - that is, following three very specific rules: (1) do not tell Clark that you are bisexual, (2) do not tell Clark that you are attracted to him, and (3) do not touch Clark in any way that may lead to overtly sexual thoughts and thus, embarrassing reactions.

And they _were_ embarrassing. Lex was twenty-two years old, far beyond the age of getting a stiffie near a good-looking girl (or guy, in this matter). But something about Clark was just – impossible to understand. Something that attracted him in a way that was almost frightening in its intensity.

And now he had a chance (probably the only one in his entire lifetime) to see the Kent boy in all of his glory. And it was glorious – that tan extended beyond the usual farmer's lines. Apparently Clark had gotten outside at one point without many of his clothes on, because that tan seemed to go all the way down to –

_Stop it, Lex_. Yes, he's muscular and broad and imposing and your favorite (okay, currently _only_) wet dream, but it would just be wrong to even take a peek. Although it was a valiant, and very difficult, effort not to think about Clark's – well.

Lex had grabbed the nearest pair of jeans (okay, second nearest pair, as the first smelled vaguely like a barnyard) and pulled them on, along with one of the only shirts still hanging in the closet, and buttoned it up quickly to prevent any and all temptation. But apparently socks and shoes hadn't played into that quick assessment.

Struggling into a pair now, Lex tried to figure out the quickest way to get to the castle from Clark's house. Clark's parents would probably think it was strange if "Clark" took the truck. Come to think of it, Clark had almost never driven to Lex's place. He'd simply – arrived.

Lex walked back down the stairs, found another of Clark's wide smiles for his parents, and slipped out the door before he could be further interrogated. Outside the scent of last night's rain pervaded the air. Some of the water on the ground had frozen, but a blinding, golden sun was quickly ascending toward its zenith, and the ice was very quickly melting away. It ought to have been considered a beautiful day, but Lex had other things on his mind as he started to long walk to the castle.


	4. Chapter 4

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Four Having a normal human body comes as a surprise to Clark. No duh.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Clark awoke without his normal crash into the bedsprings. He yawned, stretching his arms up above his head, pushing his heels out as far as they could go for that really good waking-up body stretch.

Crack.

He froze. Blinked his eyes. His – his _spine_. It had cracked. It hadn't hurt, but it had cracked. It _never_ cracked. Clark sat up, rubbing his eyes furiously. He could've imagined it. It had been a late night. And –

Suddenly his head seemed to explode with pain. He let out a low moan, falling back into his pillows.

Pillow_s_?

Pain?

What in the name of Pete was going on?

His internal thoughts reminded him of his father ("_what in the name of Pete_?", was he serious?). Who was gonna kill him for not being up early enough to help with the early-morning chores. But his head _hurt_. It hurt _badly_. Not as badly as a strong dose of meteor rocks, but it was pretty close. And his spine –

Something was incredibly wrong, but at the moment Clark's head hurt too much for him to want to puzzle it out. Thank God it was a Saturday, or he would've been in a lot more trouble. But he was in trouble as it was. It wasn't the meteor rocks, but the very fact that he was in this dizzying, vertigo-like pain was almost frightening. He tried to remember what had happened last night, and came up with nothing that would explain this. He'd walked through a thunderstorm, fallen down a hole, superspeeded home and gone to bed.

And now he had a headache. And his back was making funny sounds. Trying vainly to overcome the headache, he pushed himself up, swung his legs over the side of his bed, and promptly fell over onto the floor.

Damn! That hurt! Something was wrong, very, very wrong. He opened his eyes wide and took a look around the room. Very, very, _very_ wrong. There had to be a good explanation for why he was in what his mind instinctively told him was Lex's bedroom. Certainly it looked like the grand master suite of a castle, and since Lex's castle _was_ the only castle nearby…

Lex's bedroom. Talk about your ultimate fantasy.

He hadn't just thought that. He _hadn't_.

It was one thing to think about your best friend a lot. That was normal. Or – well. Clark wasn't normal, but he hadn't thought that thinking about your best friend wasn't normal, either. If that made any sense. Which it barely did in his muddled mind.

Okay. Back to the bedroom.

He was blushing now. Standing up, using his left hand as a support, he touched his right hand to his cheek. Warm, alright. But his hand was freezing. Yet another new experience. He stood shakily, feeling weak in the knees from the headache. God, it was feeling worse. He was in Lex's bedroom, of all places, and he felt like he was gonna -

Oh God.

He barely found the toilet in time, and when he did, he retched for what seemed like hours (it was really more like two minutes, but when you're throwing up the contents of _your_ stomach, let's see how long two minutes feels likes to you). That was worse, much, much worse, than the headache. Clark wrinkled his nose as he smelled the hot stuff in the toilet, and flushed it down, grimacing. Feeling around, he found a faucet and hauled himself up, almost losing grip of the porcelain and falling again. Turning on the faucet, he scooped some blessedly cool water onto his face and gargled some in his mouth, spitting it out and ridding himself of that horrible acidy taste. He looked up into the mirror, dazed.

Oh. My. God.

"Lex!" he shouted. How was Lex here, in front of his face? In the bathroom mirror? "Lex…?" the reflection of Lex with dark bags under his eyes mouthed his name and blinked bleary blue eyes.

Get a grip, Clark. You're seeing things. You're dreaming. You're making that face you always make when you're confused, except now Lex is making it too. The Lex in the mirror.

_I'm Lex_.

The world is a very, very, very odd place.

That was Clark's last thought before he stumbled out of the bathroom and collapsed back on the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Five Lex isn't noticing anything out of the ordinary about Clark's body yet, either. But then things get a little stranger.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Five**

Lex wasn't tired. He walked, naturally finding himself in Clark's easy, loping stroll, arms swinging, feet taking impossibly large steps. He felt better then he had in weeks, months, maybe years. There were advantages to being in the body of a healthy sixteen-year-old farm boy (even if he didn't look at all like he was sixteen, both a blessing and a curse, depending on whether you were talking about Clark's opinion or Lex's).

This had to be one of the strangest things that had ever happened to him. Well, there was really no doubt about it. Lex had been through a lot in the past year, and even more in the preceding ones, but this beat driving a car off a bridge, being kidnapped by a dead man, and almost getting shot multiple times. It really had to be some sort of karma from his earlier, wilder days. Still, if whatever force there was out there running the universe had seen fit to give Lex Clark Kent's body, he wasn't going to complain.

Intellectually, of course, he knew that this was a very bad thing. His friendship with Clark had already gone through more than its fair share of ups and downs, and they'd only known each other for a barely over a year. Still, he'd felt closer to this high school boy (Lex has to remind himself – boy, boy, _boy_) than anyone else in his entire life, with the exception of his mother and Pamela. Both of which were irreplaceably gone. But then this innocent young farm boy saves his life, and all of a sudden Lex is fighting to have a real friendship with him, fighting to become a member of his family and earn Clark's parents' approval, as if it's the only thing that matters to him.

The fact that Clark is, quite frankly, absolutely beautiful has almost nothing to do with it. The fact that Clark is unaware of this fact has a lot to do with it. Lex has liked men before; it's no secret to him that he's bisexual. If anything, it fits in with the image. Suave playboy, son of a billionaire - rumoured to be a sex god. Lex smirks to himself, and then wonders how it must look on Clark's face. Clark smiles widely and openly and plainly, and each time Lex sees it he thinks he must be going crazy _not _to lov- well, feel very strongly for him.

But Clark is still such a mystery. It was, in fact, Clark that had motivated his regrettable drinking binge the previous night. Lex wasn't prone to heavy drinking normally - the idea of being drunk, losing control, was something that had appealed much more to him in his youth. After the – incidents - that had come with such stupid decision-making, he'd pretty much limited it to casual drinking, a glass or two, no more. But he'd had an urge to forget last night – a powerful one.

Clark had offered to live with him. In his penthouse. In Metropolis. Just the – just the _two_ of them. Clark had obviously been unbalanced. Something was _wrong_. Of course, Clark's parents had been their usual reticent selves concerning what had happened. Once again, Lex had been left out of the loop. Wryly, he thought to himself that he should be used to it by now.

Still – the fantasy had been pervasive, overwhelming. It had taken a great deal of restraint on Lex's part to offer not just the penthouse, but his body as well. Lex would not normally consider himself submissive in the least, but there was something so commanding about Clark. Something in his eyes that said, _I can take you to places you've never been_. Lex was betting very highly on his friend being a virgin, but that sexual energy was there all right, just waiting to escape. Just waiting for the right person.

God, Lex wished he were the right person.

It was because of these thoughts that Lex had wished to escape for a little while, to forget all the barriers that stood between him and Clark: Clark's secretiveness, his obvious heterosexuality, his age, his parents… Lana, hell, even Chloe. Everything that stood between them was a great big solid wall surrounding a fortress heavily armed and manned by thousands, all waiting for Lex to try it, just try to get to Clark. And with it, the promise of his imminent slaughter.

So he took his expensive brandy in his expensive decanter and set out for a night of forgetting about Clark.

Failing miserably, of course.

But, on the bright side, by this body-switching madness he had managed to subvert the horrible hangover that his body was sure to experience. Healing quickly did not, apparently, prevent a massive headache from forming after imbibing far too much alcohol.

Interrupting Lex's thoughts was the squeal of tires. He tensed, and stopped. He'd only gone about halfway to the castle, and was walking along the side of yet another of Smallville's mostly-deserted roads. He stepped away, looked back and squinted. Had he actually heard that? There wasn't anything on the road –

Wait.

A car was approaching. Lex had only a few seconds to marvel on Clark's good hearing before he found himself studying the somewhat erratic movement of the car. It was still little more than dot on the horizon, but it seemed to be weaving back and forth. What the –

It was one of his cars. What in the hell was going on?

The red Jaguar. Why did it have to be the red Jag? That was his special car, the one he would probably _never_ drive. The one he'd bought on a whim, even though he preferred silver and black to red, even though it was too ostentatious for Smallville (as were his other cars, but at least they lacked the colour's obvious call for attention). Why'd he buy it?

Clark. Dammit, it always came back to Clark. Not that he _resented_ him, or anything - but when was the last time a person had become so pervasive, so overwhelming, in his thoughts that he'd purchased a _car_ just because it matched the _colour_ that said person always seemed to be wearing?

The red Jag. Could someone have stolen it? It was closer now, much closer. This person was obviously driving at only thirty or forty miles an hour. The wavering of the car – it was as if the person was over-compensating for the car's tight turns. Someone who was used to driving something much bigger.

Like a truck.

Lex squinted. He didn't know what could possibly be wrong with Clark's vision, because he seemed to be seeing at twenty-twenty, if not better. The sun shined down, reflecting off of the Jag's windshield, darkly. Anyone could be behind the wheel. Anyone. And they could be trying to run him over.

Lex was prone to fits of paranoia, but considering all that had happened to him, he found it to be a just paranoia. And it was still coming toward him. He was off the road by now, staring, feeling as if he should do something. Like run away as quickly as he (that is, Clark) possibly could. But something told him to stay, and stay he did, staring at the bright red moving closer, closer…

The car screeched to a halt in front of him, and Lex prayed that the brakes hadn't suffered too much. The person driving battled with the door a few moments before managing to open it with a bang. One foot stepped out, then other. Long legs. A sudden upward movement, a muffled curse, and Lex found himself staring at –

"Get in the fucking car."


	6. Chapter 6

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Six Clark is worried about Lex's body, not to mention his actions. And driving Lex's car isn't as cool as he thought it would be.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Clark awoke from his dazed slumber feeling slightly better. At least he wasn't going to puke again, even if his head still throbbed. And he was in Lex's body. Alright. Weird. He wiggled his toes experimentally, not knowing what to expect. Them to fall off? Being in a human body, without his powers, was terrifying – but he was obviously still too out of it to freak. In fact, he felt remarkable calm. Things could be much worse.

He could have switched bodies with Lionel Luthor.

Clark shuddered. Now _that_ was a freaky thought. Lex's body (anybody's body) was relatively tame compared to _that_. He sat up slowly, wondering if he'd get that strange feeling along his back again. It was faint, really – and it felt… it felt good. He pushed off the soft comforter that he'd haphazardly thrown around himself after he'd fallen back asleep, letting it slide between his fingers and timidly feeling its softness.

It's the little touches, like richly woven sheets and traces of gold in the bathroom that remind Clark that his best friend is a billionaire.

It's a funny thing – sometimes he thinks that Lex's arrogance, both that which he acknowledges and that which he does unconsciously, should be the telling factor. Or his behavior toward his elders. Now that's a small-town thought. Respect to one's elders. Maybe the way he casually throws away money. But it isn't that, really. Those are just elements of his character, of the enigma of Lex Luthor. It's only the little things.

Clark's glad. Sometimes he can barely speak to Lex without tripping up, but if he felt overwhelmed by the wealth of his best friend, then he simply wouldn't be able to stand it.

He winced as another pang of throbbing echoed through his – through Lex's – skull. What _was_ that? Massaging his temples, Clark unsteadily slid off the bed, determined not to suffer another fall. If he was in Lex's body then he probably no longer had his powers. He squinted at the door, but neither his x-ray vision nor heat vision worked. Although setting Lex's bedroom door on fire probably wouldn't have been a good thing…

So. No powers. So he couldn't afford to be careless, because he might damage Lex's body.

Lex's _body_. Jesus.

Clark found his eyes wandering down despite his best efforts to keep them up where they belonged. This felt so wrong, and yet – well. If to say "so right" was utterly clichéd, then Clark simply couldn't help being corny and clichéd. This was Lex, his best friend. He'd occasionally, you know, _glanced_. And he'd seen him swimming, so this wasn't any different.

Not at all.

_Good job, Clark, you've really convinced yourself_. But Lex was –

Oh, damn.

Lex slept in the nude. Jesus Christ. But it was just the quickest glance, and he hadn't _seen_ anything, not really. Just that there wasn't any – um, clothing. Down there. Yeah, okay, get a grip, Clark. Just breathe in, breathe out. Don't think about it. Just – _don't_.

Get some clothes. Yeah, first things first. Get some clothes so you can think properly. Clark slowly made his way toward the closet, which was a monstrous thing - two huge doors with these gold handles. He pulled them open, feeling the stretch of muscle cross his chest and feeling fascinated. Being human, truly human – not just having lost his powers – was this sort of high, really. Other than the - he winced as another pain shot through his skull – other than _that_. Now if he could just get through the day without inspecting Lex's body. He looked up into the closet.

And froze.

"Holy shit, Lex!" Holy shit, indeed. The entire closet – which looked to be roughly the size of Clark's room – was filled, albeit neatly organized, with clothes. So many clothes. So many _expensive_ clothes. Clark imagined that the money put into the purchase of these clothes could probably pay off the mortgage of his parent's house. Now that was a depressing thought. But he wasn't about to ponder such a depressing thought when he had Lex's current state of nakedness on the brain.

Quickly, Clark selected a pair of plain black slacks and a blue shirt (was that silk?). Now, if he knew where Lex kept the _underwear_, he'd be set.

Twenty minutes and several muttered curses later, Clark was fully dressed in Lex Luthor's clothing, and marveling just how very _soft_ they felt against his skin. Clark had never really cared about money much. Sure, under the influence of the red meteor rock he'd gone completely crazy with his spending. But in general, the only times that he had really craved money had been when the farm was in financial trouble, the way it was now. Still, knowing money could buy clothes like these –

Clark winced, and not just because of the headache. He was caring about clothes now. Maybe his mind was turning into Lex's mind. Good God. It was strange to think about, to say the least. He walked over to a gilded mirror, and stared. He… Lex… whatever, looked totally exhausted. Dark circles cinched his eyes, and he was slouching.

Clark automatically straightened up, because that was how Lex was supposed to look. As though any moment the world might come to a fiery end and he'd still look good. Clark did wonder occasionally how Lex managed that, but it was a relief to know that it wasn't natural, whatever it was. He had a sudden overwhelming urge to check the bathroom again and see if Lex had make-up, but decided against it. His sanity was being pushed enough as it was.

Heading out the door and down the hall, he thanked himself for having wandered around the mansion enough (with or without Lex's permission) to not get lost, because really, if Lex got lost in his own castle then someone was bound to say _something_. He made it to the study, giving himself a mental pat on the back, and then leaning heavily against the doorframe as yet another wave of pounding pain to the temple passed through him.

What the hell was wrong with Lex, anyway?

The answer came in the form of not one, not two, but three bottles sitting mostly empty on the desk next to a closed laptop. The stuff was written in some foreign language or the other; maybe German, and Clark couldn't read it. Apparently being in Lex's body didn't help his intellectual faculties that much. But he was intelligent enough to figure out that it was alcohol, as if the horribly rancid smell didn't give that away. He'd been drinking, and heavily.

Way too heavily. Clark had this inkling, suddenly, that maybe this was vodka and didn't vodka have some outrageous amount of alcohol in it or something? He wished that he'd paid more attention to Pete and his brothers talking about the drinking that they often boasted of doing (lies, of course), because surely they had mentioned vodka at one point or the other. But he could hardly call up Pete, sounding like Lex, and ask him how much alcohol was in his drink.

Clark was beginning to feel panicky. He leaned over the desk, trying to assess the damage, and belatedly realized he probably shouldn't have done that when he began to lose his balance over a wave of nausea. His hands slammed down on the desk to keep himself from falling over, and he felt a sharp, searing pain in his right palm. He lifted it up, and was shocked to see a small (but still pretty damn sizable) piece of glass in it from a shattered third bottle. It looked – strange. Almost unreal, sitting in Lex's pale palm, blood beginning to drip. Like Jesus Christ, though Clark wasn't overly religious.

And then the pain hit him again, and he cursed LOUD, and ran-slash-stumbled to the bathroom, searching for disinfectant and calming himself because hadn't they used alcohol on wounds in the olden times, it wouldn't hurt him if it hadn't hurt them…

But damn, Lex. Maybe it wasn't vodka, because if it was, wouldn't Lex be dead by now?

_Maybe he was trying to kill himself_.

That thought sent a cold shiver coursing through his veins. That was absolutely ridiculous, because who had more to live for? But Lex was… sometimes he seemed so sad. Mostly when Clark made some bullshit remark saying no, no, I don't have powers and… But now Clark was feeling angry, because that would be just like Lex, wouldn't it? Not to give a damn about anyone else and put himself first and be selfish enough to try to kill himself by drinking! Now thoroughly pissed, Clark tightly bandaged his hand and left the study as it was, marching down to the garage and again bypassing any domestic help.

(part of Lex's plan while killing himself? Get them all out of the house?)

There were several cars to choose from; the place looked less like a garage and more like a new car salesplace or even a museum to every hot, foreign, crazy car out there. Despite his anger, Clark felt a brief thrill of pleasure at the idea of driving one of these babies. But his head _hurt_ so much, and if he wasn't so sure Lex's body wasn't drunk anymore he wouldn't consider it, but he had to find Lex.

Especially if Lex was in his body. Of course, if he wasn't, they were in some seriously big trouble. But if he _was_, they were still in some seriously big trouble. Making a quick decision and going for the red Jag (so he liked red, so what?), he awkwardly manhandled himself in with his injured hand. But thankfully, Lex was shorter, and there wasn't that same struggle that Clark normally had getting into the tiny things. He pulled on the driving gloves, which he'd always thought looked really cool on Lex (and hid his bad hand).

But god, was it difficult to drive! So used to the truck, the expensive car's excellent handling system was too smooth for Clark-turned-Lex's farmboy hands. Heading toward his home, he was thankful again for the lack of traffic through Smallville. Hopefully Lex was still asleep if he was, at the moment, Clark, or he hadn't done anything which required using Clark's powers because… oh God…

He tried not to think about it and focused instead on his anger at Lex for drinking and doing this to himself. And when he spotted himself (Lex?) on the horizon, still twisting and turning in the car, he was just angry enough to summon a curse as he managed to stop on a dime and get out of the vehicle without throwing up again.

"Get in the fucking car." Lex-turned-Clark looked at him with wide-eyed astonishment.


	7. Chapter 7

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Seven Is Clark acting like Lex or is it the other way around?

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

Lex watched Clark-who-looked-like-Lex (this was going to get more confusing before it became less so) with an unfettered surprise as he drove the Jag back toward the castle. Lex knew, intellectually, that the expression of intense anger on his face was an expression that he had most likely used before, and yet it seemed so much more like _Clark_ than like him. The mouth was pursed in a youngish manner, the nose wrinkling slightly, eyes darkening from their normal pale. He's been too shocked to say anything, and that's perhaps the most surprising thing. Because he can always find something to say. That's his _gift_.

"Dammit, Lex – say _something_." Lex, who has allowed his thoughts to wander and was staring blankly at the road, started suddenly at the sound of his own voice. But he wasn't thinking aloud, was he? No, it must have been…

"Clark?"

"We've established that, Lex. But with you looking like me and me looking you, everything I say will sound like you and when you talk, we'll –" Clark quit, looking decidedly comical, his-turned-Lex's face twisted into a parody of annoyance and near-humour.

Lex found that he was forcing his mouth to stay shut, forcing himself to keep from laughing, knowing it would only be that hysterical, frightening laughter when a situation is just too horribly twisted to properly comprehend. The car sped along at a steady pace, and the silence was deafening. Lex couldn't stand it. But before he could come up with some clever quip to deliver, Clark had started talking again.

"What are we going to do?" this was a sort of moan, and Lex had the feeling Clark was resisting the urge to bash his – Lex's, that is – head into the steering wheel. Which was a good thing, because Lex knew that his poor baby had already suffered enough damage from that reckless little drive earlier. Not that anything so dramatic would really hurt Lex's body, either. Not after all the other shit, not after flying off a bridge and getting shot and burned and, hell, everything. But the idea was the important thing.

"As soon as we get back to the castle, we can discuss it, Clark." Amazing how reasonable he can make Clark's voice sound, when it normally takes the petulant, childish tone or this optimistic, light one. Amazing how much blight a Luthor can bring to a person.

"Amazing how you can sound so calm about this, Lex." Lex started, thinking for one irrational moment that Clark had suddenly developed (had already had?) mind-reading powers. And really, with the current situation, who was he to question the irrational?

"I can lie as well as the next person, Clark." And strangely enough, Clark cracked a small, cynical smile that so resembled Lex's own that for a moment he was sure that he was only having a metaphysical out-of-body experience, that he was really watching himself. Then he looked down at his large, golden-tanned, calloused work hands and decided against that. He and Clark had, by some curse or miracle, truly exchanged bodies. Although as to their mentality, Lex was currently finding himself in debate. Clark cursing was a totally new experience, and driving one of Lex's cars, and having this strange attitude so reminiscent of Lex's own…

He wondered briefly if he would start finding the irresistible urge to wear flannel, then shuddered, deciding that the mere idea was an impossibility. There were some things that he and Clark would never share, and taste in clothing was certainly one of them. But then again, so what? For what could you possibly share more closely then your own bodies?

Instantly his mind is clouded over with images of a decidedly inappropriate nature, given the circumstances. Hell, inappropriate in general.

"Lying isn't going to do anyone any good here, Lex."

_Funny, Clark, but I think tell you the truth about my thoughts right now would be a bad idea_.

"You're right." And Clark laughed, loudly. Startling, to hear it from Lex's vocal chords. But pleasant, too, knowing that Clark was still Clark no matter whose body he currently inhabited. With the fucked-up way things were turning out today, it was a relieving constant, strange cursing aside and cynical smiles aside. "What?"

"You must really not be feeling well, Lex, to agree with me about something so – so blatantly." Lex smirked, wondered how Clark's face must look with a smirk, then looked away, spotting the castle in the distance.

God, Clark's eyes really were _amazing_.

Lex had noticed this before he was in Clark's body, of course. Those shimmering hazel-green eyes could probably have competed alone against all of Helen of Troy's beauty, and won. The sentiment was decidedly un-Luthor-like.

"Don't get too used to it, farmboy." Lex was telling this to himself, really, though he said it allowed. Don't get used to it. Because this could be a good thing, and good things had a way of shattering, in Lex's experience. But Clark's answering smile was vague. He was looking at his hands, encased in Lex's leather driving gloves (worn for fashion, he could admit to it).

No – not his hands. His _hand_. He kept glancing down at the right one, flexing it curiously.

"What's wrong?" Clark's eyes (his eyes) flashed an unreadable look at Lex, then immediately returned to gazing at the road.

"Nothing. I mean… nothing."

Lex felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach, a cold one. All this time, he had mentally accused Clark of being horrible at lying, unable to keep it out of his face, his expression. He was still horrible at it. But Lex was looking at himself now, and he saw this glint, this strange sort of sad shimmer, in his eyes.

He had always prided himself on his ability to mask his deceptions and his lies, but that look – that one singular _look_ in his eyes, lasting milliseconds, gave it away. Gave him away. Funny, that he was more upset about this then the fact that Clark was lying. Funny.

Lex's thoughts didn't have a chance to swirl deeper into depression. There was a querulous feeling, this weird churning and gripping, in the pit of his stomach, followed by the loudest grumbling sound he had ever heard a human being's stomach make. It happened again, and Lex put his hands to his stomach, looking down at it wide-eyed. Christ.

If Lex had thought hearing himself laugh like a regular person was strange, the near-hysterical laughter that erupted from him-turned-Clark now was positively bizarre. The car swerved as it reached the entranceway to the castle, and Clark, visibly struggling, pulled it back under control, still laughing.

"Hungry, Lex?" Lex frowned in this utterly childlike and defensive manner.

"I didn't have breakfast, alright? I was in too big of hurry trying to get out of the house before your parents suspected something and Jonathan tried to shoot me." Clark parked the car in the garage, and then turned to Lex, casually lifting a single eyebrow in a purely Lexian manner.

Maybe they were going to start inheriting one another's traits, after all.

"I'm surprised you got here without passing out. I can't really live without breakfast." Lex's stomach growled in agreement.

"So it would seem."


	8. Chapter 8

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Eight What is Clark's problem? Lex can't seem to help but pry.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Lunch was a decidedly simple affair. Partially because Lex didn't know where half the food in the castle was, and partially because he confessed that Clark's stomach seemed to be literally speaking to him. _Pizza_, it said. _Give me pizza_.

After Clark managed to stop his laughing, he ordered pizza. At that point, Lex held his own, struggling (and failing) to conceal his amusement at "Lex Luthor" ordering extra-extra cheese in this very commanding voice to the guy on the other end of the line.

"I've always wanted to do that," Clark confessed.

"What, order extra-extra cheese pizza in my voice?" said Lex, amused.

"No. I –" Clark paused, looking thoughtful. His gaze flickered to his hand, then back up again to Lex, then away toward the multicoloured stained glass window. Shades of violet and blue decorated his cheeks. It was a strangely beautiful picture, and Lex realized abruptly his narcissism. Odd time to do so.

"What?"

Clark blinked. "I wanted to give an order the way you do."

Now it was Lex who blinked. Clark, aside from his obvious physical change, was having a few changes in personality as well. One of which was a fair degree of cursing and sardonic gazes. The other of which appeared to be a startling honesty. Lex found that he liked it, liked it so much that it worried him. Clark was more important to him then he sometimes was willing to admit, and this was one of the times it really hit him in the face, like a bucket of cold water being dumped over his head.

Obsession. Please don't let it be that. Because obsession with a sixteen-year-old boy is really, really not what Lex needs right now.

Not that he will _ever_ need that.

Clark, meanwhile, had coloured a faint red. Lex stared at him for a moment. It's _him_, but blushing. Strangely bizarre, how young it makes him look. He's not that old, but so often he's felt much older than twenty-two. Clark seemed to realize he was blushing too, and ran a hand over his cheek.

"Omygod, I've got to see this!" and Clark jumped gracefully out of his seat on the couch, jogging over to the vast gilded mirror in the hallway, and peered at the remaining blush. Lex, bemused, followed him at Clark's naturally languid pace.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

That earned him a grin and… was that the hint of a tongue being stuck out? No, Clark was more mature than that, if (occasionally) not by that much. And the idea of sticking his tongue out as a gesture of childishness was far too absurd to ever imagine on Lex's face. Wasn't it?

"I see you managed to successfully navigate my closet." And was there a flicker of something in Clark's eye? No, nothing.

"How many clothes do you own, Lex?"

"A sufficient amount." Lex smirked, watching Clark roll his eyes. "What? Clark, it is necessary for a man of my stature in the business community to make a good impression. Repeats on the wardrobe do _not_ make for a good impression."

Clark was astute enough to catch the loophole. "But if it it's a first impression, then they won't know what clothes you've worn before, right?"

"Any businessman worth his salt reads the society page." He thought about this for a moment. "Or has someone read it for him."

"Worth his salt? You sound like my dad." Lex snorted quietly, but not quietly enough for Clark not to overhear. "You did!"

"That's a first." Because him, Lex, have anything in common with a man of the earth like Jonathan Kent? Surely if Clark's father heard the comparison being made, his protest would be nothing short of aggressive denial. Possibly involving yielding some sort of farm equipment as weaponry. Briefly, Lex imagines the man cackling for all its worth, while running over Lex's body with a tractor. Multiple times.

"Well, as long as you don't decide to start spouting all of his home-grown wisdom." They both laughed at that, imagining Lex saying anything about _the cows won't milk themselves_.

This was… nice. Incredibly so. Lex couldn't remember the last time they'd been at ease together. Honestly, there had never even been a first time. Lex was all questions the moment he met Clark, and Clark was all avoidance. Destiny had a funny way of fucking things up.

As their laughter eased back into companionable silence, Lex considered his options. Whatever this phenomenon was, as close as it made them (in both the literal and figurative sense), it certainly couldn't last forever. But he feared that the moment he questioned Clark properly about it, the other boy would clam up.

The pizza arrived before he had a chance to approach Clark, and Lex found himself relieved. This whole situation was leaving him without his natural tact, and without any food in him he would probably blunder it even more spectacularly than he usually did.

Clark attacked the pizza with gusto, and seemed disappointed that Lex's body didn't want to accept more than five slices. Lex, on the other hand, was comfortably chewing his way through a seventh piece without a complaint. Clark's body must have had the metabolism of a racehorse to keep up with all the eating he obviously did.

When they both seemed to have eaten to their individual (or individual body's) satisfaction, Lex decisively pushed away the empty pizza boxes, noting the glimmer in Clark's (his) eye at the last box, which Lex had devoured completely by himself.

"Time to talk." Clark bit his lip, looking anywhere but at Lex. "Clark, we have to figure out what's going on." Shifting uncomfortably, pale blue eyes settled on Lex's own.

"Fine. We have a lot to talk about."

"Do you know what could possibly have caused this?"

"I love that whenever something strange happens, I'm the end-all, be-all of answers," said Clark bitterly, and if that voice didn't sound exactly like Lex's own when he was frustrated…

"Clark, I'm not trying to accuse –"

"Yes, you are." Lex paused, unsure of what to say. This directness from Clark was throwing him for a loop. Of course he was accusing Clark. When _didn't_ the farmboy have some illicit connection to Smallville's strangeness, even if Lex couldn't empirically prove it?

He proceeded carefully. "The – situation involves both of us, so we are going to have to cooperate if we want to figure anything out. I'm not trying to accuse you, but if you do know something, it is not going to help either of us if you keep it to yourself."

"Fine. The same goes for you. Do _you_ know anything?" And now Lex found himself less than a foot away from his own piercing gaze, another example of the farmboy's startling natural grace, as he moved bonelessly over the couch toward Lex. Clark seemed almost – afraid? Surely not fear in those eyes, but it seemed so close to it.

"Clark, I woke up this morning in your bed, in your body. I have no idea how it happened." Dear God, that hadn't sounded sexual in the least. Clark flexed his right hand, almost absentmindedly.

"What happened the night before?"

Lex hesitated. There wasn't an easy way of saying it, was there? He imagined it: _Clark, I kept remembering the way you were propositioning yourself to me that time, the time you were high on god-knows-what, and how I wanted to offer you my penthouse and then get down on my knees and suck your cock. So I decided to drink away my troubles, and if it killed me, I'd be thankful. I'd never have to look at your face, your beautiful eyes again, and think about how weak you make me feel._ Yes, it was definitely better to be evasive.

"You're asking me like you already know." Clark's eyelids flickered. "You do know already."

"I know what you did. I don't know _why_."

"Clark, I –"

And Clark exploded. "Three bottles, Lex! Three bottles, and one smashed. I don't know what kind of alcohol it was, but I know that you aren't supposed to have that much of it. That wasn't just enough to get drunk, that was enough to go into a coma! And I wake up in the morning, and I'm sick, and I'm afraid that something's happening to you and… and…" his shoulders slumped. "And I feel like it's my fault. Somehow, it's always my fault."

"It's _not_ your fault, Clark. I was being – foolish." The words sounded pathetic, even to Lex's ears. Foolish would be drinking enough to get tipsy. And Clark was right. Enough of that drink _was_ coma inducing, yet here Clark apparently was, healthy in Lex's body. Except there was a pained look in his eyes, and he winced. "Clark, are you still… Clark, what is it?"

"My head hurts… so, so _fucking_ much."

That would explain the cursing. Lex always got particularly foul-mouthed after any sort of hangover-inducing drinking binge, when the pain was bad enough to make him want to double over. Obviously, he didn't engage in that sort of behavior often, but the _one time_ this year he had, and Clark had to take the brunt of the injury.

"I'm so sorry, Clark. I was – I was reckless. I was upset…"

"Did it have to do with your father?" Again, Lex was startled by the astuteness. Clark was wrong about it today, of course, but so often it was Lex's father. And, really, what bad thing didn't have some connection to his father in the end?

"Indirectly."

"Lex, you… you shouldn't do things like that. Dangerous things."

"But Clark, I've been a thrill-seeker from the moment we met, remember?" Clark looked down, and inwardly Lex cursed. Brilliant time to be bringing up the very thing that created the rift in their relationship.

"I guess I shouldn't be getting on to you for that. If you hadn't been driving like a maniac, we might never have met." Clark looked back up, smiling shyly. Lex's mouth parted, but he couldn't for the life of him find a reply that wasn't the prelude to, in a word, sex. "I don't remember anything happening that might have caused it."

Lex was confused. Cause sex? What would cause – and then he realized that he was the only one thing about sex, that Clark was already back to the current topic of discussion, that is, the body-switching. The relevant discussion. Which was very much _not_ about sex (to Lex's disappointment, and strangely enough, relief – narcissism only took a person so far, after all).

If Lex wasn't cracked before he sure as hell was cracked now.


	9. Chapter 9

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Nine Clark wants to tell the truth, doesn't he? But he isn't sure that he can.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

"I don't remember anything happening that might have caused it."

Except, of course, the… alien thing. Clark knew that it might have been the cause of all of this; in fact, there was little doubt of it. What he didn't know was _how_; in that sense, at least, he was being honest to Lex. Because he _didn't_ know, and Jor-El certainly hadn't communicated anything along the lines of "you will switch bodies with your best friend."

Another test? It seemed doubtful, after all, Jor-El obviously didn't want him sharing his secrets with anybody, much less Lex. Without killing them afterwards, anyway. Certainly, if his body retained his normal powers, Lex was going to find out sooner or later (and probably much sooner) that Clark was _different_. And he wasn't going to kill Lex.

Clark didn't think Lex knew yet. That was a miracle in and of itself, but it couldn't last. Clark couldn't possibly watch him 24/7 and prevent him from running faster than a speeding bullet or concentrating until he looked through walls, hell, he might discover some totally new power. God knows they kept springing up like the plague.

Clark could just imagine it now. _Oh, yeah, Lex – there's this whole I'm-from-another-planet thing that may or may not have something to do with the current situation, and if it does then we'll have to ask my Lionel-esque alien father what to do, and if it doesn't, then we're just in a lot of trouble. Oh, and try not to set anything on fire_.

That would go over like a ton of bricks.

Lex was staring at him now. Clark shifted uncomfortably, then stared back. After all, this was probably the one time in his entire life that he was going to be able to look at himself without a mirror present. It was strange, but he could immediately identify those Lex-like qualities, even when Lex was in his body. The way he sat, for instance, was different. His back was straighter, his legs closer together. More formal.

He was frankly surprised that his parents hadn't realized anything suspicious was going on – if they had, there was no way they would've let "Clark" out of the house. Of course, he could've run off. But Lex was very careful how he acted around Clark's parents.

He'd have to be extra-careful now. Clark couldn't help smiling as he thought that.

"What?" Clark looked up, not even realizing he was no longer looking at Lex.

"Hmm?"

"You smiled. What were you thinking about?" Ah, but there went Lex again. Had he always been like this, wanting to know every little facet of Clark's life? Clark realized he had always done that, always tried to peer through the keyholes. Not that he could blame Lex; after all, Clark knew that he was reticent to a fault. Of course, if Lex was hiding a secret alien heritage, he might not be so open with Clark either. Not that he was particularly open with Clark.

Clark flexed his… Lex's… right hand again.

"I, uhh, was just thinking about my parents. How they might react to this."

Jonathan. Pitchfork. Shotgun. Tractor? Shotgun.

The thought swiftly displaced his considerations about Lex, and now Clark was struggling not to giggle, embarrassingly enough, and it seemed that he was failing because he had his left hand clamped over his mouth and was hunched over until his head was somewhere in the vicinity of his knees, trying and trying and failing not laugh.

"Clark, are you okay?" Clark took a deep breath, but that failed to calm him, and he started laughing uncontrollably. Not just at the image of his father, no, now it was at the absurdity of the entire situation and hell, his entire _life_ that was just so goddamn ridiculous and now there were tears with that laughter…

A warm hand on his shoulder stopped him. Clark blinked to clear away the tears before he looked up into concerned blue-green eyes, looking at him with Lex's focus.

"I'm… sorry. I just, this is just, too much. After everything else, this is just too much." Lex sat back against the couch, still regarding him. Not for the first time, Clark wondered how he looked to Lex, how Lex must've found it strange or even sad and pathetic that he had to watch his body go through these angsty teenage cycles again.

"It's alright, Clark. You're allowed to freak out." Clark bit his lip and glanced at Lex.

"You're not freaking out." Lex smiled that cynical smile of his, which looked strange on Clark's face, normally so open (except, of course, when hiding his multitude of secrets).

"That's one of the things you learn as a Luthor, Clark. How to freak out and not show it. Because believe me, I'm freaked too." Clark gave a tentative smile.

"I'm glad it's you."

Clark couldn't believe he'd just said that. But it was true, wasn't it? How could he have possibly handled this if it had been someone other than Lex?

Lex was regarding him with something akin to astonishment. "You're – glad that it's me?" He seemed to be considering this for several moments, as if he were waging some internal battle in his head over the possibility of whether or not Clark was lying to him.

"You're my best friend. It, uh, could have been a lot worse." Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush.

For some reason unknown to Clark, Lex seemed simultaneously disappointed with and happy with that answer. But Clark wasn't about to get more psychologically entangled. His own mind was fragile enough as it was, given the circumstances.

Given the fact that he had seen his best friend naked.

Oh, god. And the blush is appearing? Yes? Again? If Clark could just force himself to think about something else, but now all that was on his mind was that he'd seen his best friend naked while being his best friend, and really, weren't there other things he could worry about right now?

Apparently not.

"I suppose it could be worse," Lex said thoughtfully. "You could have switched bodies with my father."

Keep a straight face.

"So, what are we going to do? I mean, what if this is… I mean…"

"Permanent?" Lex seemed to muse on it. "I don't think it will be. Nothing here seems to be permanent. Things are – people seem change rapidly. Normal one day, not normal the next. Then back again."

"Or else they end up locked away at Belle Reve." Clark hadn't meant to sound like that, bitter and full of self-loathing. He was the reason for so much of what had happened, for all the people whose lives had changed on account of him existing on this planet. _Him_. And now he'd gotten Lex more deeply involved then he ever needed to be.

"Clark, I highly doubt this is experience, or any other experience involving you, is going to get me locked away in an insane asylum." Clark laughed, but he didn't know what to make of it, really. The way Lex said _you_, maybe. The way it sounded like a sigh and an accusation all at once. Lex had this twisty way of talking to people, where he might have felt one way, or the other, but you weren't going to know which it was. It was one of many frustrating things about Lex Luthor that Clark was constantly struggling to understand, struggling and failing miserably.

Alright. Well, two could play at that game.

"Wanna bet?"

"Bet what?"

"That this sad rip-off of _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ isn't going to leave us all… weird." Lex stood, and Clark stopped, realizing that he was pacing in front of the couch. Funny, as didn't remember ever standing up in the first place. Lex's body, however, seemed to like to pace.

"Weird how?" Lex said softly. Clark had to look up, if only slightly, to meet Lex's eyes. He wondered suddenly how that made Lex feel, to have to look up to him. Under normal circumstances.

But circumstances were never normal.

"Weird because… there are things that we… we don't, uh, know. About each other. And if we stay like this for a while, then we, uh, will know. Those things. About each other, I mean." Lex seemed amused.

"I take it you mean more than the realization that I don't have an affinity for pajamas while I sleep?"

_Alright, Clark, your mouth can stop gaping right… about… now._

"Even more than the realization that my stomach talks," said Clark solemnly, before both men started laughing.

Clark couldn't believe that he was making this lighthearted, that _Lex_ was making this lighthearted. They couldn't just _forget_ a year of lies and half-truths about each other. Could they?

No, they couldn't, and Clark had two choices to consider now. Firstly, he could tell Lex the truth about everything. I'm an alien, my birth father is a lunatic, and yes, you did hit me with your car. And so on, and so forth. Or secondly, he could find some kryptonite, knock Lex out, and then try to figure out where to go from there.

Clark knew what Jonathan Kent's choice would have been. And, despite her sympathies for him, that would probably be his mom's choice too. Anything, but telling to the truth to Lex Luthor.

The truth. At times, Clark struggled to remember what that even meant. Telling Pete the "truth" had infuriated him. Eventually, sure, he'd gotten over it. But to imagine Lex angry with him for all those lies he told to protect himself and his family… Clark just _couldn't_ imagine it. Because Lex would think he had avoided telling him the truth because he was a Luthor, because he didn't trust him…

He had faded off into silence again, and Lex was only looking at him, waiting with a patience Clark didn't know his older friend had possessed. But before he could say anything, Lex spoke.

"I'm assuming there are more serious issues at hand. Is there something I should know about you, Clark?"

Clark took a deep breath. If he did what his parents told him, and tried to cover it up, Lex might never know – especially if he was exposed to kryptonite and passed out. But Clark would know, wouldn't he? He'd know and it would haunt him, seeing that look in Lex's eyes that meant Lex somehow knew he was being lied to, lied to by his best friend, the one he thought was different and good. Clark realized that he wanted desperately to prevent that look of defeat and anger and deep-rooted sadness from revisiting Lex's eyes, that he wanted desperately to simply _tell the truth_ to his best friend.

And he was going to. Goddamn his lies to hell. He was sixteen, nearly seventeen, and he was going to deal with the consequences of his actions, whatever they might be.

"There are a lot of things you should know about me, Lex. And I'll tell them to you, as long as you promise me something."

There was a guarded look in Lex's eyes now, but he slowly nodded.

"Promise me that we'll always tell each other the truth from now on, no matter what."


	10. Chapter 10

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Ten Lex finally gets Clark to take the leap. But what he thought the truth was, and what the truth actually is… make for a bad reaction.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

"Promise me that we'll always tell each other the truth from now on, no matter what."

Lex swallowed. Whatever it was that was different about Clark, it was obviously immense. Maybe moreso than Lex had ever imagined (or allowed himself to imagine). And Clark would tell him the very thing he had yearned to know since the day they met.

That is, what was it about this ordinary farmboy that made him so special? What was it in this town that had changed Clark, that had made him something beyond normal? How had those meteorites or radiation changed him, what had he become?

But did he want to know?

Lex couldn't pretend that he _didn't_ want to know. The thought of solving any mystery that had eluded him immediately attracted his analytical mind. Hell, it brought him closer to the throes of happiness than most other things he had experienced in his lifetime.

With the possible exception of really good sex. Or at least a fantasy of really good sex, one that usually involved Clark naked and hungry for just one thing, a thing only Lex could offer him…

And yet something within him persisted in asking him if this was what he _really_ wanted. Because Clark's look – and it was purely Clark's look, despite being on Lex's face – seemed fascinated and terrified all at once.

Fascinated by what?

More importantly, terrified by what?

Lex had little doubt that the cause of the fear had to do with him being a Luthor, and it was of no doubt at all that said fear was the installation of Clark's wary parents, doing their best to protect him from Lex's questionable – at best – influence. Yet (through perhaps some body-switching form of empathy) he felt as if there was something to this fear of Clark's that had little or nothing to do with the Luthor name.

Perhaps it had more to do with the fascination, or whatever it was. Maybe fascination in not knowing how Lex was going to respond. The way even now Clark-Lex's eyes gazed upon Lex-Clark's face, glance skittering everywhere except straight into the eyes, following the line of high cheekbones and a broad forehead and lips puckering naturally, dark hair with its too-long strands tucked behind an ear or falling forward to brush a cheek ever so softly. What was he looking for, what did he see with Lex inside of him? Did he shift back by mere millimetres, anticipating angry yelling and accusations? Did those eyes dart just for a second to the big strong hands, wondering if he would be hit? Had Lex imagined that?

He didn't think so.

Clark had no idea how Lex was going to respond, and it fascinated both of them. Yet Lex found himself strangely ambivalent to that troubling fact, that Clark so obviously still felt some sort of fear or suspicion toward him. Under ordinary circumstances, it might nearly have been another insult to their so-called friendship, which had (barely) survived its apparently inherent distrust.

But that didn't matter now; none of it did, because _Clark was going to tell him everything_. Clark, who obviously feared that their friendship would disappear, shatter and break under the onslaught of the truth, who obviously feared that Lex would retaliate angrily, maybe even violently – was going to tell him. And all Lex had to do to be privy to this information was to make a promise; a petty thing, really, a small thing. Lex had never cared much for promises, didn't value them, and didn't feel an urge to keep them. He could promise all he wanted, feel the comforting words slide over his tongue as he convinced his future paramour or friend or casual fuck that he would never, ever hurt them. Promises meant nothing.

And yet he couldn't speak, couldn't move his mouth to form the words. He swallowed again and his throat still felt dry, desert-sand dry, as if all the smooth oil-talk that Luthors learned had melted away the moment he had come to inhabit the body of his best friend. Clark drew back away from him, and Lex realized that they had been standing together, so close together, and he had looked down just the tiniest bit to see straight into his own eyes; ha-ha, finally the taller of the two, the more powerful of the two.

But inside was the same old Lex, still trying desperately to cover his weakness, his uncertainty, his pain. Trying desperately to be something his father and everyone else was convinced he wasn't. A good man, a decent man, a man that Clark could tell any truth to and receive in return only understanding and compassion. It was a ruthlessly simple fairytale, and yet every time Lex tried to be that man, it failed miserably and pouring from his mouth came lies and more empty promises, and flowing from his bank came the money to soothe over the inevitable hurt, diamonds for a girl's ears or trucks for the poor boy at the farmhouse who had saved his life.

"The truth now?" It took an immeasurable time with those three words hanging like fragile glittering stars between the two of them before Lex realized that he had spoken – it wasn't his voice, after all. It was the voice of a young boy who was really a man, or maybe vice-versa, or else some other incomprehensibly beautiful thing.

"I won't ask you about your past, if you don't want me to. It doesn't have to be, umm, retroactive or anything. Just from now on, let's not lie. Please. No more secrets." Clark's voice was pleading now, the way Lex remembered pleading to Jude-who-was-not-Jude as he hung upside-down in the club with his life seconds from being over.

When Lex responded, he didn't say what he meant to say. He couldn't. He said the first thing that bubbled up into existence within his mind. "Why should I tell you any of my secrets?" And he cringed as Clark cringed.

"Are we friends or not, Lex? Or is 'destiny' just another lie you feed to people so they trust you?" Bitter voice, bitter words. Spoken the way Lex spoke to his father.

"I wasn't lying about that!" Lex was surprised to find his voice had raised until it was nearly a shout. But he hadn't lied about that. He didn't remember speaking the words, exactly. Only that they had appeared between the two of them, and the moment he had said them they had become true. _The stuff of legends_, he had said. _Trust me, Clark_.

Clark seemed as surprised as he was about the shouting. His eyes widened, he stepped back and sat down abruptly on the sofa, a movement utterly lacking in grace. In fact, his movements the entire time they had been together had seemed very careful, very precise, as if he was struggling to adapt to Lex's smaller, slimmer, more contained body and trying to reconcile it with his regular body.

"I didn't mean it. I don't think you lied. I'm just – I'm scared, Lex. I'm sorry that you have to see yourself like this but I am. I'm _scared_. I just want you to know the truth; I don't want to keep it locked up inside, and whatever this is that happened, maybe it happened for a reason. You said it yourself. _Destiny_. And I'm afraid of destiny, I'm afraid of my future, and I don't want to face it without my best friend." Clark was breathing rapidly and shallowly now, as if he had to get all of the words out before he could take a proper breath. "You said a friendship can't be built on lies. So promise me you won't lie, and I'll tell you the truth. And if, if you hate me… if you hate me, I…" He stopped, biting his lip. He was already regretting his words, Lex saw.

"I could never hate you, Clark."

An instantaneous relief spread over Clark's face. Though Lex had made no promises, Clark seemed ready to take that as his word. He leaned forward and with his left hand tugged softly at Lex's arm. Lex immediately sat down beside his friend, long legs automatically folding themselves into a comfortable position.

The moment was fast approaching. Fast, maybe too fast, like sixty miles an hour down a bridge with the grim music surrounding him in the car and the golden boy right before his eyes in that one instant before the water broke through and threatened to drown the reckless driver when he was miraculously, impossibly saved.

The fast track to fate in an out-of-control Porsche. Lex would never be able to avoid it.

"Lex, the truth is –"

Hell. The least Lex could do to be accommodating to fate was buckle his damn seatbelt.

"I promise. I _promise_, no more secrets from now on."

Clark smiled his beatific smile, shaped with Lex's pale lips and fine sorrow lines at the corners of his eyes, until it became something that Lex might have called beautiful if his vanity had not been severely struck down by one look at his savior-angel-farmboy. A farmboy that could extract a promise from a Luthor heartfelt in its sincerity, if perhaps not in its practice.

"No secrets. Can we shake on it?" Clark shyly extended his hand and Lex carefully took it, and they shook hands slowly and then didn't let go. For the briefest instance Lex glanced up at Clark to see him staring with rapt fascination at the clasped hands between them, then Lex looked back down to the hands themselves. For an instant, really no more than what might have been in the old days called a passing fancy, he imagined that he could see right through the hands to their very bones clutching one another in their luminescent white sheen, surrounded by the vaguest blue-black darkness that was flesh, and then the vision was gone and they both took their hands away a little too quickly.

"Tell me." Lex couldn't keep his voice from sounding eager, but with his promise – for whatever it was worth – extracted out of him the only thing swirling within his mind now was knowing; knowing what Clark was hiding, knowing what had really happened the day they met. Knowing that Clark would admit to that ridiculous theory his friend Chloe Sullivan was constantly perpetuating, the fantastic myth of shimmering rocks from outer space causing people to become strange and different and special. Causing them to become outcasts and freaks, as Lex himself was. How had it happened to Clark, he wondered. What ability had the meteor shower given him? For surely that was what it was.

Surely. Clark was just afraid to be different.

"I'm not – I'm not who you thought I was. I'm different from everybody else. I can do things, strange things. Weird things. I'm always afraid that I'll wake up and something else will happen to me. And it's because… because…" Clark trailed off, looking off into the distance beyond Lex, seemingly trying to form the right words.

"It's alright, Clark." Soothing words, there they were. The old Luthor charm coming back into play, a pat on the back, rubbing small circles into the tension spots of the shoulders, a calming hum between his lips. _Just tell me_.

"I'm not human," Clark stuttered. "I'm from another planet. I came down with the meteors, I think maybe they're from wherever I'm from. I brought them with me."

Silence. And then the thoughts.

_Wherever I'm from_. The words repeated themselves again and again. _Not human_, Clark had said. _Another planet_. And all of a sudden there was a vast vortex of thought in Lex's mind, all swirling together, all saying my God, my best friend is a fucking E.T., and he lied about all of it and I must have hit him with my damn car, who knows what else this thing can do, he could probably kill us all, an alien from another planet.

More silence. And then the accusations.

And he had caused it. _He had caused the meteors_. Clark had come to Earth with those green rocks that had scorched Lex and killed Lana's parents and made Smallville into this haven for horrible, twisted things. And God knows what was going to happen next – an alien invasion of more things like Clark, with more of those meteors, changing the entire planet, making humans like them or maybe just conquering the world.

And it was churning, the vortex, until it came down to a litany of selfish little inner Lex, who'd spent the last twelve years of his life being tormented and laughed at and hurt because of those stupid meteors and what they'd done to him, and Clark had caused it. He… because of him, this _thing_…

How much of this was he saying out loud? Lex focused back on the real world, focused on his words as he said them, staring down at his clenched fists in his lap. "You… because of you, you _thing_…" and then he stopped, terrified.

The whole vortex of words. The whole half-crazed speech in his mind, he'd said it out loud. A xenophobic rant that would've made Adolf Hitler proud. He'd said that he would never hate Clark, and then he turned around and stabbed him in the heart.

But it was shock, it was just shock. He had to tell Clark that it was just shock, and that he would never truly hate him, and that if Clark would just give him one second, please, then he'd be alright and they could talk.

Of course, when Lex looked up, Clark was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Eleven Alone and upset, Clark tries to deal with alienating – literally – his best friend.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

He didn't know what room in the castle that he'd run to; in all his visits, Clark had never fully explored its many winding twists and turns. But it didn't matter now. What mattered was that he'd gotten away from Lex. Here he sat, in this dark room with its furniture covered in white sheets like grotesque spirits, him half-curled into this smaller, strange body that he now occupied, and told himself not to cry.

A thing, Lex had called him. A _thing_.

Clark hadn't known how he was going to say his secret; for all of his determination, the words had still barely come forward. He'd come with the rocks; he'd brought the meteors. In those few sentences, he had felt all of the guilt and the shame pour our, the knowledge that someone whose life had been inalterably changed by the meteors would finally know the truth.

Lex hadn't responded at first, and Clark had felt this twisting, sickening sort of pain in his stomach. It had scared him. He had wondered if maybe this was what humans felt, when they thought something bad was going to happen. Like their insides were screaming.

Then, slowly, words had started to form. Lex had refused to look at him, had instead stared down as he spoke. Clark, deprived of his normally far above average hearing, struggled to understand at first. But the words had become clearer and clearer, and the feeling in the pit of stomach deepened as he made out words. _Alien from another planet. Maybe you're here to kill us, you caused the meteors, my whole fucking life was destroyed and you caused the goddamn meteors to fall, you're going to conquer the fucking world_.

Clark didn't realize that he'd run away until he found himself clinging to doorframe of the strange room he was now in. Taunting, the words had somehow managed to follow him. _You thing_, he'd said. His best friend thought he was a thing. Lex hated him; he blamed him, for everything.

Pete had been angry, had even condemned Clark for those few, short moments. But it had been because Clark had hidden his origins, not because he had come with the meteors. Then again, Pete's life had not been affected by the meteors, certainly not like Lex's had. Pete hadn't been through the hell Clark knew Lex had experienced. He lightly touched his scalp, feeling how smooth, how utterly devoid of hair it was.

He pulled his hand away as if burned. It was his fault, no matter what his parents had ever said. His and whoever sent him to this world in a fiery streak of destruction. He tried not to imagine what kind of a world he'd come from, a world where people shot fire from their eyes or could crush bones between their fingers. A world of monsters, maybe.

His right hand. He examined it again, free of Lex's intense scrutiny.

Clark was not the only one with secrets. Ever since he'd cut his hand on that shattered bottle on Lex's desk, he could feel it healing. At first, he'd thought it was another human thing, to feel the sensation of skin knitting itself together. Strange, but normal.

Not so. His (Lex's) hand was almost completely healed. Clark had rarely been hurt, but he'd seen his friends and their various cuts and bruises from the rigours of daily human life, and no cut that deep should be nearly healed after half a day. Clark could only guess about what had happened to Lex's body during the meteor shower, but losing his hair obviously wasn't the only change.

He wondered if Lex knew that he was different. He must have. He must have seen others who had been injured, and known that he was healing faster than the rest of them. He remembered Lex once mentioning that he'd had asthma as a kid, but it stopped. After the meteor shower? Almost certainly. He'd changed. And then he'd stopped changing.

It flooded back suddenly, all the things that Lex had been through during Clark's year of knowing him. All of the injuries he'd suffered, and yet they all seemed to leave him flawless as always. Him, who studied each and every person who was different in Smallville, and wondered what made them different. Him, and all the time he'd been quietly healing, staying healthy, unchanging.

"Hypocrite!" Clark spat out. Lex had wanted so much to learn other people's secrets, while carefully concealing his own. _I don't get sick_, he'd said. But he was a meteor freak just like the rest of them. Another story to put up on Chloe's Wall of Weird.

A vicious twist of scorn penetrated Clark's thoughts. At least he wasn't a freak the way Lex was. He was an alien; he was probably normal for wherever he'd come from. But all those meteor mutants, they were just that – mutants. Humans who weren't really human anymore. For all of Clarks' abilities and the lies he had to tell, at least he was born that way.

Almost immediately, he felt shame wash through him. Lex and Lana and the countless others who'd been changed, it wasn't their fault. It was his. His and his alien parents, or whoever had sent him away to this world. He couldn't blame Lex for his anger, for his hate. Clark tried to imagine himself in Lex's condition, and he knew that he couldn't possibly have simply accepted with open arms the very – the very thing that had caused him so much pain. The thing that had made him different.

A freak.

If he'd thought the situation was bad enough before, what now? If he hadn't already begun, soon enough Lex would start to learn of each and every one of Clark's abilities. And what would he feel to know that he could see through walls or burn things with his eyes? Would his obvious disgust grow more and more each time he learned of yet another thing the body he was trapped in could do?

And what else? Already, Clark felt that Lex's body had its own way of doing things. He had to struggle to move the way he was used to moving, to talk the way he was used to talking. He was swearing more than he had ever sworn in his entire life and unconsciously moving the way Lex moved. What if the remnants of Lex's mind were the next thing to try and take control? It seemed impossible, but God, the situation was already laughing in the face of impossibility. What if he were to learn what was inside of Lex's head? What would he see there?

But the more horrifying thought was what Lex might see in Clark's mind. The secrets that had nothing to do with Clark's alien heritage or discovering new powers at incredibly bad times. The things that had to do with how he sometimes resented his parents, or hated his friends, or wanted to just escape himself because he was big and awkward and not quick-witted or brilliant. And the layer below even that one was even worse; the layer below that one saw Clark beginning to question the things about life he had always taken for granted: live in a home without worrying about losing it because of money problems, having friends that he could trust, living a long, full life, being in absolute love and adoration with Lana and marrying her and having children some day.

Those haunting questions that even now, in the midst of everything else that was going on, constantly swirled around inside his mind. They were there, asking those meddlesome things that Clark was mostly too afraid to even consider. What if the Kents lost their home? What if his friends learned about him and betrayed him? What if he ended up strapped to a lab table dead and cut open with tools made of glowing green meteor rocks?

What if he didn't want to marry Lana and have children with her someday? What if he didn't adore her? What if he didn't love her?

There were mirrors in the room. Were there mirrors in every room of this big, haunted house? Clark approached one slowly and tried not to rear away from the opposite image of Lex walking slowly toward him, eyes wide and mouth tense, still looking faintly dazed from shock.

Slowly, purposefully, he raised his hand and softly touched his fingers to his cheek. Deliberately and unhurried, his fingers danced over the contours of his (new?) face, tracing the soft eyebrows, around the shape of each eye, the sharp profile of the nose, the bowed lips with their tiny scar. Then his hand slipped lower, to his neck from where a steady pulse beat, then over the smooth silk of his shirt, all the way to his abdomen. He shivered, and withdrew his hand.

Clark could pretend to be ignorant of his deeper thoughts all he wanted, but the truth (if that word could ever be applied in a meaningful way again) was that he was fascinated with Lex. At least, that was the word he allowed himself to use when the slim, pale businessman invaded his thoughts, day and night, even his dreams.

Clark didn't remember many of his dreams, but there were times when he'd awoken as most normal teenage boys did, knowing that they would do their own laundry that week, and he told himself not to think about the fact that he knew, just _knew_, that Lex had been in his dreams. Because it didn't mean anything, or more appropriately, it couldn't mean anything. Clark couldn't put his parents through anything else, anything that could possibly be like… like that.

They were open-minded people. How could they not be, with him as a son? But he knew how his mom and dad dreamed of one day having grandchildren of their own to coo and cuddle and spoil, and if Clark were – if he were not – damn, he couldn't even think it to himself. God, how disappointed they'd be. Of course, Clark didn't even know if he could have children with regular humans. Hell, it was probably the least of his worries.

He couldn't think about this now. He couldn't think about having children, because that meant thinking about how one made children, and that meant sex, and here he was in his best friend's body thinking that _really, he'll never know, not if I don't do anything, just look at him_, and it was all really too ridiculous because his best friend thought he was a thing and he hated him and he wasn't attracted to Lex and how could he be even thinking about sex with his best friend when he was in his best friend's body?

And if Lex found out? Well, Clark wasn't sure if it would be possible for Lex to hate him more than he obviously already did, and he wasn't keen on finding out just how much hate a single person could hold. So, he would hope that body-switching was as far as it went, and they wouldn't start reading one another's thoughts. Then again, that could be his next ability, and wouldn't it just happen that said ability would show up at the worst possible time? Of course, Clark had yet to tell all of his secrets, and that included his abilities.

Clark had been stupid to ask for no more secrets between the two of them, anyway. What was more childish than asking such a thing?

_Probably running away from someone in the middle of the conversation when they're freaking out about your literal inhumanity_, he thought to himself miserably. Yes, he would definitely categorize himself in the class of total idiot. But what could he do? Try and go back to the place where he was before – in both the literal and figurative sense? He could hardly expect Lex to ever trust him again, but of course, he would have to find Lex again first before he could even consider that. And without his abilities in this monster of a house, it would take him an incredibly long time to find his way back to Lex. That is, if Lex hadn't run off to Lexcorp or Luthercorp or Cadmus or any number of scientifically-minded businesses who might be able to get him back into his own body.

Which would put both of them in danger. The scientists who worked at any of those places were people (like Lex?) who wouldn't just agree to relinquish their hold on the first extraterrestrial life form discovered on planet Earth, not for all the money or power that Lex could and would offer them. And if Lionel Luthor himself got a hold of Lex and Clark in this situation, there was no telling what would happen to them.

Despite Lex's reaction, Clark couldn't let them both end up strapped to lab tables because he'd been afraid to tell Lex his secret until it was too late. He had to find Lex before it was too late. Of course, there was still the problem of navigating the house without x-ray vision. And the fact that Lex would probably avoid him at all costs. And the previous sudden, unexpected rush of arousal from his earlier thoughts that he was struggling to quell because of all the things that had happened over the past few hours, that one was _really_ crossing the line.

Lines. He couldn't define lines anymore.

"I said I'd never hate you."

Solid ice in Clark's stomach. He nearly gasped aloud, then turned to look at the room's entryway to see – himself – standing in it. His mouth opened, but at first, no words came out. He could only look at the body he no longer inhabited and try to tell himself that this was Lex somewhere inside of there, with that unreadable expression on his (Clark's?) face. The situation still seemed so unreal, like looking at a mirror that was slanted and trying to understand the reflection.

"You… how did you get…?"

A smirk. Now _that_ was very much Lex, and at least for the present moment, Clark could accept that he was Lex and Lex was him, because he never smiled quite like that.

"Apparently, you can see through walls."

"Lex –"

"Clark." His face changing into an expression of the utmost seriousness, Lex approached Clark. Clark struggled not to step back, and barely won. The apprehension must have been clear on his face, however, because Lex's expression was instantly pained, regretful.

Regretful? Clark was trying not to jump to conclusions, but the fact that Lex had gone looking for him was at least something to be optimistic about when everything else seemed to be turning out so badly. Things like his best friend calling him a thing, and switching bodies with said disgusted friend, and contemplating what his parents would do to him if he came back home like this, not to mention his attraction to Lex, which could be considered both narcissistic and masturbatory-inclined at this point in time…

_Clark, really, shut the fuck up_. Nevermind the fact that he was (thankfully) not speaking aloud, his mind traveling along that train of thought really, really had to stop. He told himself to be calm and collected, and careful – careful as he could be now, anyway.

"What do you want, Lex?" He asked, and prided himself on how steely his voice sounded, how contained his anger and hurt were. It didn't hurt that he had Lex's voice, he supposed.

"To apologize for that – that outburst. It was unwarranted, and I shouldn't have – I was just –"

Lex was having difficulty speaking. Clark would probably blame that on his body being clumsy and awkward and not at all like Lex and what he was used to, but his anger was fading even as Lex struggled to get out the right words.

"I just – I panicked. It wasn't what I expected at all, and I let my emotions get the best of me, and I didn't stop for one second to think about how it would make you feel and… I made a mistake, Clark, and I hope that you can forgive me for it."

The way it sounded was just so… Lex. Talking about emotions getting the better of him, and not being empathic to the alien in his house. Basically, admitting to being human instead of a Luthor, for once. Now Clark remembered why he and Lex were best friends.

"I'm the one who made the mistake, Lex." Lex's eyes widened, and Clark suddenly realized that as real and sincere as Lex's words had sounded (and hopefully/probably were), it had been a rehearsed speech, and one he hadn't been expecting Clark to respond to, at least not the way he had. Just _so_ Lex! "I made the mistake of being afraid, instead of telling you the truth. I made the mistake of lying to you."

"I'm sure you had your reasons, Clark. Like your parents, for instance. Undoubtedly they won't be happy to know that I'm aware of your – heritage." Clark couldn't help it. He laughed.

"That will probably be the least of their worries. Considering everything else." Lex hesitantly cracked a smile, though his eyes dropped to look at the floor. "Anyway, the important thing is that we can face it together… right?" Lex's eyes snapped back up.

"You're just _forgiving _me like that? After what I _said_?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why, for god's sake?"

Clark didn't laugh this time, but he could feel the small smile on his face as he looked on at a truly bewildered Lex Luthor i.e. Clark Kent's body. Clark didn't really know where his next words came from, but they sounded like something that was concocted between his mom and dad, maybe at their best moments.

"I'm forgiving you because you don't think you should be forgiven."


	12. Chapter 12

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Twelve Lex is forgiven, but the two friends are tipping dangerously between understanding and anger.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

Lex was staring at Clark's smile and trying to say something, only he couldn't. He'd broken completely now; his mouth wasn't working, his throat was dry, his voice box shattered. It all seemed so _easy_ all of a sudden. Just like that, forgiven for throwing vile curses at a boy who was practically a god. As if Judas Iscariot had just been given a get-out-of-hell-free card by Jesus Christ himself.

That was not a particularly savory metaphor, and Lex hoped to whatever god was up there that it wasn't an accurate one, either. Besides, Judas had never lusted after Jesus.

They'd never written it into the King James version, anyway.

"So is this what Lex Luthor freaking out is? I'd expected something a little more, uh, glamorous." Clark's smile, Lex's smile, it was all melting into the same thing. For a moment he was convinced he'd lost his mind, that this was all just a dream brought on by too much alcohol imbibed over (what else?) Clark Kent.

"You… that is, we're…"

"Friends?" Clark held out his hand. And surely, Lex thought, surely he knew the significance of it. For other people it was simply a handshake, a ritual that was followed mindlessly because it was polite. But to shake hands with a Luthor when one was a Kent, _that_ meant something. That meant trust, hard earned trust. Like taking a vow of one's honest-to-God humanity.

Ironic, that.

"Our history with handshakes isn't the best, Clark," Lex said soberly. Clark withdrew his hand as if stung, but didn't argue. Lex knew then that he understood, and despite the sadness he was causing Clark, it was still for the best that they not put any more illusions of _everything's alright_ into this relationship, for whatever it was worth. Hadn't they tried that, only minutes before, just to see the illusion crumble before it could become complete?

"What if I rescind the promise?" Lex looked sharply at Clark. Forget the whole thing, was that the plan? Lex had had enough of forgetting things when they weren't convenient or were too close to his heart for him to want to think about them. "I mean, change it around a little?"

"How so?"

"Everyone's allowed secrets, Lex. I'm not asking you to tell me all of them, now or in the future. We all have secrets to keep. I just don't want us to lie, at least about who I am. Not anymore." Lex found himself biting his lip, considering, and wondered absentmindedly if he was doing that because Clark's body was used to such an action.

"And what about who I am?"

Clark smiled again, and Lex found that he was fast becoming used to his face doing that easy, open grin. Frightening thought, really.

"You're Lex Luthor. Billionaire, resident of Smallville, owner of world's scariest dad, and my best friend. Who knows the biggest secret I've ever kept, and didn't run away screaming."

"No, I did something worse." Because he had, hadn't he? Somehow, screaming and running away seemed to preserve more dignity than ranting like a madman about the creature sitting beside him who was really just Clark, just his best friend Clark, just his attractive best friend Clark. Hell, just his alien, attractive best friend Clark. Just his…

Lex's mind was severely caught in a rut here.

"Did I ever say I blamed you for that?" Clark had begun to walk away, and his voice trailed over one shoulder, inviting Lex to follow. He did, wondering where Clark intended to take the two of them. It was obvious that he'd run blindly to this room. Lex wasn't sure if _he_ had ever been to this room of the house. But as he had sat there on his sofa minutes before, wondering how to find Clark and apologize, his vision had gone strangely black and blue. He saw a person's skeleton through the walls, far in the east wing. He could see secret passages and tunnels and beyond, outside, surrounding him.

The phenomenon had bowled him over for a few moments. Seeing through walls. That explained… a lot, actually. It felt overwhelming, but Lex was quick at focusing – when, of course, it didn't directly involve one Clark Kent – and grasped that the skeleton was Clark's. Well. His, actually. Amazing, how fragile one looked when you took away the skin and the flesh and blood and musculature. Amazing, how one looked just like everyone else. Because Clark certainly had. His body, at least, didn't seem to have any distinguishable differences, inside or out, from a normal human.

Not that Lex was a normal human. But he tried not to think about that. Just because the meteorites had touched him didn't make him that different. Just on the outside, where everyone could judge him. But he'd learned from that, hadn't he? He'd become stronger.

That's what his father would say. Lex had wondered if maybe someone like Clark, or Clark's parents, would say something different.

He followed Clark quietly, considering. His thoughts quickly moved away from that dangerous territory (emotion being considered very dangerous to a Luthor), and back to the idea of Clark's alien abilities. Obviously, he could see through walls. Move very fast. Was probably very strong. Maybe… unable to be hurt?

"I hit you with my car that day we met." It wasn't a question. If Lex was honest with himself (a concept often thought but rarely explored), he knew it had never been a question. He may have been flying over a bridge at sixty miles per hour, but he wasn't drunk or dazed. He'd seen the beautiful angel-thing in front of him before he'd hit the ice-cold water. He'd hit Clark Kent, and Clark Kent had saved his life.

"I told you. I'm glad you were driving like crazy."

"You can't possibly mean that."

Clark stopped suddenly, and Lex fumbled, still not completely used to Clark's longer legs. Thankfully, he managed to regain his balance before tumbling right into his now-smaller friend. As if the day could get any worse.

"I know _you_ don't mean everything you say, Lex. That doesn't mean that I'm the same way."

Yes, apparently it could.

"Clark –"

Clark turned so abruptly that Lex almost fell again, his face tight. Lex found himself fascinated by the tiny lines radiating from his (Clark's?) mouth and eyes, making him appear older. The blue eyes were intense and full of emotion Lex knew (or hoped to God) that he hid. When, of course, he was inhabiting his own body. In Clark's, it was rather difficult to do.

"Just stop, okay? Just stop. I know you can be a cynical bastard sometimes, but please, just let me tell the truth without you questioning it for once. Is that possible?"

Lex opened his mouth, and shut it without saying anything. God knows that his quick, often vicious replies were obviously not going to intimidate Clark. He had to approach this as a friend would, though God knows he hardly qualified as capable of friendship, as his previous actions had all-too-clearly demonstrated. He found that his eyes moving everywhere they possibly could to get away from the piercing glare directed at him. He'd long known of his capacity to make others nervous with just a glance, but to have it directed at himself! As if a mirror image had come to life, and it was intent on murdering him.

An intensely frightening thought. Best to think of something else.

Quickly.

"A cynical bastard?" Lex found himself asking, and cringed inwardly (and perhaps a bit outwardly as well, though he hoped not).

His eyes (not _his_, they were Clark's now, dammit, remember that) blinked, and his face turned into a typical expression of Clark-like confusion. Then an unexpected laugh seemed to bubble up out of nowhere.

"A cynical bastard. About right. Crazy driver, too. Can we agree on that?" The intensity was slowly turning friendly in Clark's eyes. Good, because that blue was going to drive him insane. That was _his_ blue!

_Calm the fuck down, Lex_.

He forced himself to shrug. "It's the truth, right?" Then, out of nowhere, a light grin.

Camaraderie. This could work.

Clark took a quick step toward Lex, who immediately backed up into the wall. Maybe camaraderie wasn't working so well. Was Clark's body always this jumpy? Maybe it was an innate reaction to someone who looked exactly like – well, yourself – coming right at you. Clark was still smiling, even laughed a bit.

"Most of the time. Relax, Lex."

"Are you capable of relaxing?" An eyebrow quirk from Clark. "I mean, do you, ah, sleep?"

"Of course I sleep. And I eat. I do all the stuff humans do."

Lex considered this. "But… really fast."

"Very fast. But not all the time." Clark looked around the hallway the two of them were currently occupying. "Is there somewhere we can sit?"

Lex forced himself to think, to look at the walls and doorways and tell himself where exactly he was. Still in the east wing, but no longer in the far unexplored corners. Second floor, wasn't there a sitting room? He squinted, and immediately everything around him took on that blue-black tone. Yes, the sitting room. Well, one of the sitting rooms.

He blinked, and his vision cleared. He turned to tell Clark, but stopped when he saw the bemused look on his face. "What?"

"It came really easily to you. The x-ray vision, I mean. Do I always look like there's something in my eye when I use it?"

Lex thought about this. "Yeah." He grinned. "You would do this weird thing, that squint, and I always thought you were about to get a migraine or something. What did you mean about it coming easily to me?"

Oh, no. Why did he have to say _coming_ in a sentence? It wasn't in the right context, he wasn't supposed to be doing this, thinking about this, he wasn't a horny sixteen-year-old!

Actually, the kicker is, he was a horny sixteen-year-old. At least in body, if not in mind. Yet.

Focus, Lex.

"I mean I pretty much had to practice to get the upper hand" (why did he have to put it that way?) "on all of my abilities. To, uh, reign them in. That's what my dad says." Lex nodded, again refraining from saying anything that might make him sound too eager to hear more. Of course, he did want to hear more. What abilities? How to restrain all of them? Was something strange going to happen at any point (stranger than the ordinary strange, of course), and how did he deal with it? He walked past Clark and led him to the third door down on the left side of the hallway, revealing an ornately arranged sitting room with two sumptuous love seats and a low, polished oak table between them. He settled down on one and was amused to see Clark manage to take up the entire other one, even in Lex's body. Like a cat, really. A big, good-looking cat with long legs and musculature like an Olympic athlete.

Focus, Lex.

He looked at the table to see if there was anything of interest to take his mind off of Clark for an instant of time.

There was one thing on it.

A Bible. King James version.

Lex sighed. This was going to be a really long day.


	13. Chapter 13

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Thirteen. Zero hour is approaching, the culmination of a day of lies becoming truth. But the final truth may be too much for either of them to handle.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTE**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"I know that there's something else, Clark. Don't try to tell me that I'm wrong. What is it?" Lex gazed steadily away from Clark, accusation released into the still air. Clark struggled to control his anger at the question. They'd spent the past, what, seven hours talking almost non-stop (in between generous allowances of time for food), him pouring out nearly every thing he could think of concerning his abilities and his secrets and all of the situations he'd been in, while in return the other man had offered the smallest of details, illuminating but miniscule nonetheless, on his life and his past.

And yes, there were some things Clark hadn't told Lex. Two, both equally dangerous, in his mind. But for all of his openness, he'd received precious little in return.

"There's nothing else really important, Lex. Not that I want to discuss." There. Now he wasn't lying, not exactly. Just keeping things to himself, things he was uncomfortable saying. That was the agreement, wasn't it?

"I don't believe you."

Clark took a deep breath. He had never considered himself the argumentative type. Honest-to-God, he hadn't. Sure, he'd argued with Chloe and Pete and his parents and Lana on more than one occasion, but he'd thought (hoped) it was perfectly normal to do so. No one gets along with absolutely everyone one hundred percent of the time. It is an impossibility to do so.

"Lex, you can be such a child!" Lex's green eyes widened with surprise and a dim gleam of anger, not expecting Clark's retort.

Yet this was _ridiculous_.

"I'm not…what in the hell are you talking about?"

"Yes, Lex, you _are_. I don't mean…" Clark sighed, frustrated. How to explain this to Lex; Lex, who so obviously was afraid of the truth when given it freely, without some reason to be suspicious? Lex, who couldn't accept that were some aspects of his life that Clark simply didn't want to bare; ironic, considering the multitude of secrets he was keeping from Clark. "_Legally_, yes, you are an adult. But at the same time, you're still so much a child, in ways that I'm not."

"And how is that, Clark?" A hint of sarcasm in that question. More than a hint, actually. He decided to ignore it. He thought back to the few hints Lex had given of a childhood filled with nannies and tutors, and lonely birthday parties with no guests, and isolation from the normal activities Clark had so easily taken for granted.

"Two reasons. One, you never really had a real childhood." Lex's eyes darkened. "You – well, people caused you to skip that phase of development. You went from young to what you are now, no real growing up, not in the sense that I've grown up. Friends, basketball games, after-school stuff." He hesitated. Of course, his childhood was probably somewhat different that what other, non-extraterrestrials went through.

"And so because you did that your childhood was what, perfectly normal?"

Lex appeared to feel the same way.

"Just let me explain, will you?" Lex shut his mouth and glared. It made for a picture that shouldn't have been amusing, but was. Over the course of the day, he had actually begun to get used to this, to the way Lex's mannerisms were invading the body that he occupied. Chloe would sometimes talk about people who became friends and how they started to act and talk and even think like one another as they got closer, but Clark figured that this went a little beyond what she was talking about. Seriously, friends couldn't really get much closer than this.

And yet friendship, at least this friendship, was the most tumultuous thing Clark had ever dealt with, including the revelation of an alien heritage and that one of his best friends had had a crush on him for years. And anything having to do with Lana.

Strangely, though, he'd really enjoyed it. Not the lying, and the keeping secrets. But being with Lex, listening to him talk in that clever way, the way that made you really _think_. And those rare, real smiles when Clark managed something mildly clever in return. And the games of pool, or sharing a drink. Even the arguments, when they occurred, brought this sort of rush to Clark, like adrenaline, only combined with endorphins or the alien equivalent, because Clark felt sort of strangely light after the fights. If only they hadn't involved him lying, than he might have started more of them with Lex, just to get that feeling.

But now the lies weren't part of the equation. He could still feel that rush of excitement as he and Lex had the verbal equivalent of a duel, frustrating and annoying and petty but still, in a way, good. It was just the kind of friendship that someone like him, someone _different_, would enjoy. Otherwise, why would he have bothered with being Lex's friend?

He tried not to think about the attraction he felt towards the older man, and failed miserably. But that was a small part of it. Most of the time.

In any case, their words of friendship notwithstanding, they had spent the greater part of the day arguing and accusing one another. This lie had let to that lie, to those lies, to that and that and this, and why didn't you just tell me, and how could I possibly have told you, and so on, and so forth. In between, though, there had been laughter, sometimes absolute hilarity. When Lex hadn't felt offended at not knowing the truth, he admitted to the humour of many of Clark's antics involving his powers. Such as the fire caused by a glimpse at Lex's former wife. Lex had nearly burst out laughing (had held onto the edges of it, forcing himself not to do anything but let out the barest of sniggers). _You have sex-lasers, _he'd said.

That had been funny, until the laughter had edged out into an uneasy silence. The two of them had looked at one another for too long. Clark wondered if all of his emotions were still so easily read through the windows of his eyes, now that he had Lex's steel blue. He thought maybe they were; more than that, though, he feared that maybe they were. And all of his senses and pheromones and whatever the hell else was inside him now, they were all saying that he wanted Lex.

Sick. He had to be sick, going insane, something. It wasn't as though he were looking over at his own body and lusting over it, because he wasn't. Truly, that would have just about killed him. But it was as if Lex's soul – or essence, or aura, or _something_ – was there, just behind Clark's frame. And Clark was drawn to it, almost as if it were instinct. For all he knew, on his planet, it was normal, and it was instinct. But how would Lex react? Knowing that an alien wanted him?

It seemed as though Lex had leaned forward, if only slightly, during that period of time when they were in silence. But then he seemed to have remembered himself, and quickly sat back, giving Clark a disarming smile and asking if he could fully control that particular power. And Clark had decided to simply not dwell on it, on sex-lasers or whatever it was; hell, on sex in general. He didn't want it getting any more complicated than it already was. He was, after all, already keeping his feelings, or whatever they were, from Lex. That, and he wasn't sure how to introduce his allergy to kryptonite, either. He didn't really know why he hadn't explained that yet, among the explanations of all his other powers, but there it was, sitting in the dark corners of his mind along with the discomforting idea of … liking Lex? The sentiment almost seem too childlike for whatever it was he felt, only that it was beyond his crush on Lana, beyond catching glimpses of Chloe that made him blush. This was utterly different; deeper, somehow. He didn't understand it, but then again, Clark didn't understand himself half the time.

"Are you going to explain what you meant about me being a child, or are you just going to sit there and be angry with me?" asked Lex, sounding a bit sullen. "Or we can just have yet another uncomfortable silence until midnight."

Clark glanced to the window and noticed that the sun had disappeared from the sky over the course of their latest argument/discussion/yell-fest. The clock on the south wall told him it was nearing nine in the evening, about the time that he'd fallen into an exhausted sleep the night before. Which had been strange, but he'd been more tired than usual that day. Probably from falling down into the mud during a rainstorm after incinerating wood in the forest while considering his various relationship problems and emotional hardships.

Yeah. That would do it.

Where had he been? Lex's behavior, normal childhood, not understanding him… right.

"And two," he continued, "you don't know all there is to know that people learn from their childhood. None of us has it all down completely. We're all children, really. But the things _you_ don't know…" Clark hesitated. "The things you don't know are beyond what I don't know. I don't know biochemistry, but you don't know how to trust people. It's different. Inte- integrally different." He stumbled over that word and mentally cursed.

"I've been lied to my whole life, Clark. If my parents were Jonathan and Martha Kent, maybe I'd understand more of this. But as you so clearly put it, I didn't have a normal childhood. And until ten hours, my best friend had been lying to me. So forgive me, if you will, for my ignorance on the subject of _trust_." That being said, Lex looked away.

"And I guess I'm just supposed to apologize for them taking me in? I'm sorry about your past, Lex! I wish to God I could have done something! But I'm telling you the truth now so you don't have to feel like that anymore." Lex looked back up to him, eyes disbelieving, yet a glimmer of hope was resting within their hazel depths. "I'm sorry I was a part of everything that made you stop trusting people." Clark felt embarrassed then, running a hand over Lex's smooth scalp as if he expected hair there. He got a startled look on his face, and put his hand back down.

Lex managed a soft smile, and Clark relaxed. The last thing he needed was yet another shout-fest during this endlessly long day. "You aren't any more, Clark. I'm just trying to take it all in, and it's a difficult thing to manage."

"I can imagine," he said, relieved. "It was a lot for me to take in too, y'know."

"When did you find out that you were, ah – that is, you told me it was last year, but you didn't say when exactly you found out you were…"

"An alien?" Clark blinked, and smiled. "It was actually the day we met. I wanted to know why I was still _alive_ after what happened. I'd never been put in a situation that dangerous, and all I did was black out for half a minute, or maybe less. So my dad told me."

"You blacked out?" Now a wash of guiltiness flooded Lex's face. "But you still woke up and decided to save the guy who hit you with his car." Clark laughed.

"You make it sound like I had a choice. I wouldn't have let you drown, if that's what you're thinking."

"You said to me that day, that I would have done the same for you." Lex hesitated, eyes looking anywhere but at Clark's. He settled on the bible lying on the table between them, and seemed to grimace. "I have to consider if that's true, and I really – don't know."

It was incredible, the way Lex could think so poorly of himself. Then Clark thought of how Lionel had treated him as a child. Though he hadn't asked for details, it was obvious that their relationship had been worse that he'd ever thought before.

"You would have, Lex," Clark said finally. Because whatever darkness that was in Lex, it was overwhelmed by the friendship he felt for Clark. That much had become evident over the course of the day, anyway. It had always come back to their friendship. It was almost like an obsession, and not just Lex's. He'd felt the same way. It was strange, yes, but between the two of them, it seemed to fit.

Yet Clark wanted more, and he knew it now enough not to deny it for any longer. It became clearer to him every second that he passed the day in Lex's body, understanding what it felt like to be Lex. It wasn't anything so poetic as baring one's soul, really little more than a freak accident, but nevertheless it had been revealed to him that he couldn't let the other man go, for either (or both) of their sakes. For better or for worse, this thing would, in Clark's mind, bind them together permanently.

"How do you know, Clark? I mean, how do you really _know_ that I would have?" Hints of a plaintive sort of beg in that; Lex grasping for assurance that he clearly never received from his other friends. If he'd ever had any other friends. Now was hardly the time to ask if his assumption were true.

He stood, feeling his knees crack in an oddly pleasant way. Lex was still sitting there, reclining into the mini-couch or whatever it was, looking at the Bible as if it were his lifeline. Or else he simply didn't want to meet Clark's eyes. Or maybe both. He crouched down until he was the same height as the other man (which made for an awkward sort of half-lean, half-slouch) and put his hands on Lex's knees, feeling them shift lightly beneath his slender palms.

"I know you."

Lex blinked slowly. "Do you?" he whispered, eyes never leaving the bible. Clark rolled his eyes and, lifting one of his hands off of Lex's knee while keeping the other firmly in place, he grabbed the bible and threw it out the door. Lex made a noise that was almost a strangled laugh, and partially a bark of surprise, and maybe a little bit of anger.

"I don't know what you're doing, looking at that thing as if it's going to answer whatever questions you have. I don't really know how your mind works most of the time, but I'm guessing you're working on some insanely beautiful and entirely inaccurate metaphor about how you're Judas and I'm… I'm _Jesus_ or something and one of us is going to hell and one of us is going to heaven and all that other crap."

Lex opened his mouth, and closed it.

"If that's true, then you can take it and shove it up your –" Clark stopped as Lex blanched. "Um, well, forget about it, alright?"

"O – okay."

Finally, he'd been able to say something sufficiently surprising enough to shock Lex and keep him from making one of his clever retorts. It should have been a victory, but instead he simply felt an overwhelming sense of calm, as if they were on equal ground. Switching bodies, the great equalizer.

"I'm glad we understand each other."

"Clark?" Clark looked straight at Lex, daring him to say something smart-assed. "Ah, why Jesus and Judas?"

"You're right. It was a strange choice. Their relationship was nowhere near as complicated as ours." A nearby clock rang out the hour; nine deep tolls, startling them both. Then Lex laughed, and Clark joined him. Laughter was the best medicine, and all that. Or so his dad would say. But his dad had probably never switched bodies with his best friend and spent a day feeling every emotion possible while keeping his hand firmly on his knee.

Not his hand. His knee.

Clark recoiled. And hit the couch. The hand was on his knee, and it was Lex's hand. They looked at each other, too astonished for words.

"Is this real? Or am I dreaming?" Lex said, and it was _his_ voice.

"Maybe the whole thing was a dream," Clark suggested, still dazed. He could feel it, though, that his own body seemed new to him. He flexed his fingers experimentally, and as never before could _feel_ the power in them. He wondered if Lex had felt that way.

"Kind of a bad dream," Lex replied. When Clark gave him his own brand of hurt look, he continued. "I mean I didn't get to do anything more than look through a wall or two. And walk really fast." Clark grinned.

"Maybe we can switch again some time."

"Until we know what caused it, we could very well switch again." And that was typical Lex, pulling down the mood into the dark and dreary. It was as if that were his purpose. Happiness was not allowed in the Luthor household for very long, it seemed.

"We can figure it out together."

"No more lies?"

_Like a child, Lex, really_. It was as if he had to keep repeating the statement, maybe to make it more real. And if that were true, Clark could hardly blame him. Because he was still lying to Lex. Maybe not in the sense that he had been before, no. But with every passing moment back in his real body, he could fee the urge to confess to Lex that he was hiding something, even if it wasn't strictly lying. That he and Lex were strangely compatible as best friends, but that they should be something… more. Was it a result of them having switched bodies? Clark didn't think so. When he had started baring all of the truths in his life, the ones within his subconscious inevitably start to bubble up as well. And having spent so much time spilling his guts to Lex, he felt guilty now over not telling him that he was attracted to him. It seemed an even bigger secret than the kryptonite; an even stronger weakness that could be used against him. Against both of them.

Why was keeping this obsession/attraction thing a secret? Nothing could possibly be a worse reaction than what had happened before, could it? What was he afraid of?

Being an alien hadn't lost him his best friend. But maybe this obsession… would.

"Clark?" Clark shook his head to clear his mind of those thoughts, but they stayed stubbornly at the forefront of his attention. He looked over Lex's shoulder toward the clock, now putting the time at a little after nine.

"No more lies. But I should tell you. – that is, there is something. Else." Lex didn't say anything for a moment, and Clark looked back down to see that despite the switch, his friend's (obsession's?) hand was still sitting carelessly on his knee. Lex looked down as well, and removed the hand as if it burned. Maybe it did burn. Who knew?

"Whatever it is, it's okay, Clark." Clark had to smile at that. The way Lex could say something so easily, and yet have his actions so immediately refute those words.

"I don't know if _I_ believe _you_ now." He looked again at the clock, ignoring Lex's confused expression at his cryptic words. "I should go, you know, listen to my parents rave on about me being at your house all day."

"Don't avoid it, Clark. We'll still be friends, I told you. I'll never hate you, ever. It's better to just tell, get it over with." Though the words were soothing, Clark couldn't help but remember each and every time over the past day that Lex had pulled away from him, had refused to meet his eyes; even those times where Clark's very presence near him had seemed to upset him.

Clark was neither argumentative nor a coward by nature, even if he had spent a great deal of the past year in utter denial, and much of the past day embroiled in arguments. Nothing would ever be the same after this day, in either case so his next action was by his very nature the right and natural thing to do to culminate a day of – whatever it was. Had been.

"Is it?" he asked. "I guess maybe you're right, Lex. I should get it over with, even if I don't think you'll react – well. It'll probably be the first and last time for this, anyway."

"For wh –" But Clark was kissing him now. Soft, gentle brush of his lips against Lex's slightly open mouth, feeling the world beginning to slow around him, the cool mouth slack and unmoving beneath his own warmth. Then it slowly closed, still not kissing back.

Clark drew back, seeing Lex's wide, disbelieving eyes, how he slowly brought his pale hand up, fingers trembling as he touched his mouth, moving violently away from Clark as he did so, nearly unbalancing himself in an effort to put space between him and his (former?) best friend.

Mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake.


	14. Chapter 14

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Fourteen : Lex has too much time to think to himself. Clark decides to return, and get him thinking in the right direction.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTES**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

**Additional A/N: **One chapter remaining!

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**Slant**

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**Chapter Fourteen**

For as long as Lex lived he would never forget that kiss. The warmth of Clark's mouth on his own, the longing on his face, how carefully he had drawn away from Lex, his loving gaze metamorphosing into fear at Lex's intrinsic response. He had pushed him away; like a fool, he had pushed him away. The taste of Clark was still there, on his lips. Vanilla.

Ice cream. Right. They'd had ice cream earlier, hadn't they? And Lex had eaten the plain vanilla, much to Clark's chagrin. And the flavor had stayed.

Lex licked his lips absently. Clark had a way of sticking to people, didn't he?

Lex felt like a fool, not for the first time that day. The very thing he had wished for, practically since the day that the two of them had met, and he had pushed it away. He had his reasons; he would swear to whatever God was up there that he had his reasons. Because Clark did _not_ need someone like Lex. Clark didn't know what he was doing, he had been affected by being in Lex's body and so he had Lex's desires. He had run away, hadn't he? Probably in disgust, or shame, or embarrassment. Probably some horrid mixture of all three.

Or maybe he had wanted Lex. Maybe.

There were all of these times that Lex had caught Clark staring at him; a gaze that had housed some emotion too complex for even his analytical mind to figure out, especially as any answers he discovered would almost certainly have been clouded over with his own sordid emotions and wants. Yet the looks had become more frequent; the pauses of thoughtfulness that Clark had when with Lex, where he seemed to drift off into some fantasy world.

But after such a thing, he would almost always mention Lana. To distract Lex – or himself – from his thoughts? Or maybe Lex only thought that because he had wanted so badly to be Clark's friend, Clark's lover –

Clark's _only_. A sentimental, foolish thought, but he could imagine it in perfect detail nonetheless. Sharing ice cream in the best parlor in all of Metropolis, tongues entwining over a bowl of caramel and fudge poured onto creamy vanilla, sharing the flavor and not noticing or caring about the stares of desire and envy that they would receive; Lex and Clark, Metropolis's most gorgeous couple, sharing ice cream.

Damn fucking ice cream. Lex decided he would never eat the stuff again.

Moments later, he swiped his tongue over his lips again and decided against it. Because that was the only ice cream flavored kiss that the two of them would ever share. Because Clark was gone. Because Lex had pushed him away.

Frankly, he hadn't thought it possible for them to push each other away, not after everything that had happened. Not after Lex's panic attack over his best friend's alien heritage, or Clark's anger at Lex's own foolhardy behavior the night before, or after any of the many arguments that had coalesced into this one day that had unveiled so many secrets. And yet the kiss had apparently been the most fragile of them all; a single kiss, and it had all shattered.

Somehow, he knew that this was all his fault. For all of Clark's flaws, they dimmed in comparison to those that Lex possessed, or as he sometimes felt, possessed him. Clark was right to call him a cynical bastard. Clark was right to run away as fast as he could, before Lex could corrupt him completely. Clark had told him his greatest secret, and for what? To see it all turn to nothing the moment he did the very act that the older man had so desired?

If this was what it meant to be close to someone, Lex thought that he'd rather find a corner to curl up in and die. It would probably be the only way that he could successfully defy his father, make the Kents happy, and put Clark out of his obvious misery. A world without the problem of Lex Luthor was a world that would be much less complicated.

Self-pity was disgusting, and weak, and last night he'd had a drinking binge to get over it. He couldn't make himself repeat that episode again; for all that he knew, in one of Smallville's utterly ironic twists of fate, by getting himself drunk enough to die he would somehow simultaneously punish Clark, and if he wasn't wrung dry of secrets by now, God knows what they would dig up if this scenario were ever to repeat itself.

Maybe Lex could be the one spilling the guts, all dirty and stained and evil, all over the floor for Clark to sort through, and see if he still wanted to kiss Lex after it was all over. For all the shit Nixon had given him over Club Zero, that had been a transgression more regrettable than sordid. And _had_ Lex done sordid. The things he had done in his youth nearly made him want to vomit now, but even puking himself clean of anything wouldn't erase the fact that he had wanted to taint himself black.

Clark had been surprisingly insistent that Lex tell him nothing that he wasn't comfortable sharing, and that had been a hell of a lot. Clark hadn't ever pried, hadn't ever asked for just one more detail, and Lex had offered him precious few facts, much less details. It had all coalesced into some sort of vague feeling of regret about the past, and frankly, Clark couldn't possibly imagine what Lex's life had been.

Was it any surprise, really, that he had fallen for – wanted, no, simply _wanted_, he told his conflicted inner thoughts – Clark? Someone so obviously untouched by everything that had made Lex the man he was, someone so goddamn vanilla compared to Lex. And hell, him being an alien creature on top of everything else made it seem all the more right.

Lex hadn't been lying when he had said he would never hate Clark; not if Clark took over the entire fucking world and made the people of Earth his slave. God knows he would probably bow down willingly. Certainly Clark would prove to be a more merciful master of this planet than the Luthors ever had been, or ever would be. He'd be a blessing to this world, he already had been a blessing, as compared to the curse that was the day Alexander Luthor was born. Hell, his only mistake so far would seem to be having saved Lex from drowning and then proceeding to be his friend. It never worked, it never could work. Jesus and Judas could not be fucking pals (in whatever sense of the word he decided to apply to this situation), any more than Warrior Angel and Devilicus could walk down the streets of Arcadia City hand-in-hand with matching sweaters.

Lex was thinking now that maybe he might kill himself, if he could garner up the strength (or drunkenness) to do it; none of the household staff would be back until the end of the weekend to stop him, not that they would stop him, unless they were working for his father and spying on him. But he couldn't do it, even if he wanted to. Lionel Luthor still presented a threat to Clark, even if Lex never would again, and if this body-switching phenomenon decided to re-assert itself… he tried not to think of the consequences of his dead shell being occupied by Clark. Of course, Clark's abilities, from what he had seen or learned, had the potential to be limitless. Who knew? Clark's soul might possibly be able to raise the dead.

It wasn't a gamble Lex was willing to take. Even if they never spoke, or even saw each other again, Lex had to protect the one person who had bared his soul to Lex, even if he had been under the pressure of having occupied Lex's body. God knows if Clark would ever have told him the truth without this extraordinary sent of circumstances having literally ripped his secrets right out from within him and into Lex's greedy, grasping hands.

All his love of the mystery about Clark had vanished, and yet he found himself still as attracted to and obsessed with this alien boy/man. This wasn't another of his simple loves of the taboo that came and went with the wind; this was a fucked-up _bond_, and even he wasn't sure if he was the one who had initiated it with Clark Kent, or vice-versa. Destiny, if it was truly real, had probably decided long before either of them had been born that this was it, that it was inevitable, and there wasn't a goddamn thing either of them could do about it.

Except maybe run away from each other, run to the ends of the earth and beyond just to stay apart. And even that didn't sound as if it was going to be effective, judging by the fact that Clark Kent was standing in the doorway (again), looking trussed and wind-tossed and gorgeous and human and angelic and unreadable and everything all blended into one very solid, very real body.

Lex didn't often have hallucinations, but this could have been one of those times.

"I came back," the neutral, but still enticingly warm, voice said to him, hazel-green eyes cool but watery. A living, breathing contradiction standing in the doorway like the raven haunting Edgar Allen Poe, making the poor poet think and think and think until it drove him mad.

This was like something out of a movie that couldn't decide on its own fucking genre; was it black comedy or cheesy sci-fi or fantasy or melodrama or straight-up tragedy or even an awkward romance?

"You… came back." Lex snorted to himself. Who was the raven here, repeating every damn thing? "I noticed," he continued, his voice dry, "very quickly."

Clark smiled, but it was a sad smile. Or perhaps, more of a defeated smile. "I run because it comes so easily to me. And the faster I run, the farther away I can get from everything." He hesitated, the smile dropping from his face. "But I can't run from this. I can't run from you. You're – always in my mind, you know? You're so damn persistent. You're more stubborn than my dad, even when you aren't there."

Lex stood slowly from his recumbent position on the sofa and approached Clark, not thinking, barely feeling. Clark watched him with bright eyes, waiting more patiently than the farmboy had perhaps ever waited. When they were perhaps a foot apart, Lex stopped.

"I can't apologize to you for it, Clark," he said hesitantly, but firmly. For all that he was persistent, and stubborn, it was matched by Clark's own will to stay near him, and there was no denying that. They drew each other, emotionally, intellectually, and certainly physically. As if their minds were truly linked. Who knew? If his best friend was an alien, then anything was possible, wasn't it? "I can apologize for the way I act to you, but I can't apologize for the way I am to you, or to anyone else."

"Except my parents. My parents are the only people you apologize to for _who_ you are, did you know that, Lex?" There was a bite to Clark's voice, a sharpness, an accusation. Lex could only answer truthfully, because hell, it was true. For the trust and respect of Jonathan and Martha Kent, Lex would do just about anything.

"Your parents are very important to me, Clark." He seemed to mull over this for a moment, searching Lex's face for some sign of… something.

"Them, or their opinions of you?" Lex was momentarily startled. But it was a valid question. Hell, it was the perfect question for a Luthor.

"Them." Clark looked away for a moment, almost as if he were fighting tears. Then he looked squarely into Lex' eyes, and the very lines and curves of his jaw and brow were written with the resolve of a man who would not let anything stop him.

"I told them."

Lex felt his heart lurch to a stop, then hiccup into an irregular, fast beat. His stomach felt cold as ice, and his extremities, his fingertips and his toes, went numb. He tried to think of something to say, but he was overcome with vertigo, afraid to open his mouth. His vision blurred, and he thought to himself, _God, I'm really going to faint right here in front of him_ as black surrounded the edges of his vision.

Then he felt the warm, strong grip of Clark's hands on his upper arms, holding him up, holding him steady.

"Lex!"

He took a breath, deep and slow and calm. "I'm –" he found himself chuckling as everything seemed to slowly return to normal. "I think I almost went into shock."

"I didn't mean to make you… are you…?" Clark stopped, sounding worried beyond belief. His thumbs, Lex noted, were absently stroking Lex's biceps even as he stood there, frightened-looking. Even when he was afraid, he strove to help others. It was clear as day that Clark couldn't be human; no human could possibly care that much about everyone else. It was also as clear as day that Clark had always been like this to him, always waiting for the chance to offer comfort, and Lex had pushed it away out of – out of what? Fear? Distrustfulness? The thought that he might corrupt this boy?

Clark was no boy; his very body betrayed the fact that he was no ordinary sixteen-year-old, and while he acted sometimes as any high school guy might to situations, it was always a wisdom and a maturity and a depth of feeling far beyond what even Lex had been like at that age that had shown through in the darkest of times.

"Clark, you saved me yet again," Lex found himself admitting, smiling absently. Before Clark could say another word, Lex asked for the clarification that he dreaded, but need to know nonetheless; needed to know before anything else happened to the two of them.

Or between the two of them.

"What exactly did you tell them, Clark?"

Clark bit his lip, and even that looked beautiful. "I told them everything. I told them that you knew, I told them that I told you about me… I told them that I – I –" he stuttered to a stop, breathing heavily. Apparently being an alien didn't keep you from feeling nervous and reacting bodily to that nervousness.

"You told them that you kissed me." Lex released a breath he didn't realize that he had been holding when Clark nodded in affirmation.

"I had to. I couldn't – I know I'm going to have to keep lying, to protect people, to protect my family. To protect you. But I can't, not to my parents. I just… it would kill me. If anything could kill me," he hesitated, but continued, "that would kill me."

Lex smiled, though it was small, and probably not in the least reassuring. How could it be, when he was still trying to reassure himself? "What did they say?"

"They didn't say much. My dad got this, uh, this look, and he left the room. But my mom, she didn't seem… she didn't seem very surprised."

"She didn't… she didn't cry, or anything, did she?" Lex told himself that it was just his imagination, that his voice wasn't trembling, but he could hardly delude himself further on that account. All of his illusions were dying a slow, painful death, wrapped in the sudden, heat-filled comfort of Clark's embrace.

"She didn't cry, Lex. She just – she just hugged me, tight, like this, and told me that she'd talk to dad," he whispered into the shell of Lex's ear. "Don't cry, Lex."

"I'm not," he whispered. He slowly extricated himself out of Clark's embrace, and forced himself with all the strength in his body not to cry. Something his father had taught him must've stuck, because when he was fully out of Clark's embrace, he wasn't crying. He was calm, cool, collected. At least on the outside.

"You don't have to keep things from me. I told you – all that I could," said Clark gently. And when had he become the adult, and Lex the younger, more inexperienced, vulnerable one? That temporary switch had done more to him than he'd ever thought possible. The next thing he knew, he was going to start believing in miracles.

"I'm not," he said. Don't let his voice waver; don't let anything give away how he was feeling inside. Clark stared at him intently, searching again, for whatever it is he sought within Lex. Lex hoped to God that he found it, feeling the silence start to weight heavily on him.

"We promised we weren't going to keep any secrets from each other." Clark said at last, sighing.

"And we aren't, Clark." Lex felt an intense nervousness start to wash through him in a cold wave. He had more than his fair share of skeletons in the closet; he knew it, he imagined what Clark would say if he knew… any of them.

But Clark hadn't wanted him to reveal those, hadn't pressed, hadn't pried. Had accepted what he was given, taking it as if he could never get anymore, so he had to get all that he could now, at this moment. But there was so much more that Lex wanted to give. Could give.

"No, I'm not. You are, Lex."

"Clark –"

"No." said Clark, forcefully. "Listen to me. I told you because, if you haven't figured it out by now, _I trust you_." Lex told himself not to become hypnotized by the emotions flashing across his friend's face, told himself not to let this accusation go on. He found himself voicing the one fearful, burning thought in the back of his mind.

"Are you sure you didn't tell me because you didn't have a choice?" Clark blinked, took a step back. His face showed his hurt. Lex felt a matching stab of pain go through his own stomach.

Clark swallowed, and then spoke. "Is that what's bothering you, Lex? You think I told you, told them, because I didn't have a choice?" Lex was silent for a moment. It really was true, it _had_ been bothering him. Yes, Clark could claim a patent of nobility if he wanted over telling his best friend his deepest secret, and then revealing that he had told his deepest secret to the very parents that had warned him against it, but it was hardly a noble gesture when sooner or later Lex would have performed any number of Clark's unique abilities and learned for himself just what his best friend was capable of. It was only through the luck of fools that nothing had happened until after Clark's confession He could feel himself getting angry, now, despite it all.

"Well? You didn't have a choice, did you, Clark? I wasn't going to remain oblivious to your body's powers while I was occupying it." Clark looked down, and for a moment, Lex thought he was going to admit defeat. He found that he feared if Clark admitted defeat. Lex could tell by the movement of Clark's mouth that he was biting the inside of his cheek, debating. When had Lex become so obsessed with even the most infinitesimal movements of Clark's mouth?

Right. The kiss.

"Lex –" Clark wavered. "There's one thing I didn't mention."

"What?"

"The green meteor rocks. They," Clark took a deep breath. "They hurt me."

Sudden epiphany. Everything, ever piece of the puzzle that Lex had been trying to fit into the scheme of this slant-wise situation made sense. "Then… all those times you seemed weak, or incapable of doing things, you mean those _meteors_…"

Clark sighed, leaning back against the doorframe. "Yes."

Lex considered this for a moment. "That doesn't make any sense. Those green rocks are obviously indigenous to your home planet, wherever that may be. Why would they be detrimental to your biology? Humans, I understand how they could have an adverse effect to our body's cells. But –"

"Lex." A little of the old you're-a-billionaire-but-still-a-science-nerd in how Clark said his name. "That's not the _point_." Lex frowned.

"Then what is the point, Kent?" he asked, a bit more angrily than he'd meant to.

"The point, _Luthor_," Lex winced at his own tactic being used back at him, "is that a little bit of that green rock and you'd be down for the count. I think I could even ki –make you pass out if I held it near enough to you for a long enough period of time." Clark turned away, looking blankly down the hallway as if searching for some reprise from this endless drama.

Oh, God.

Oh,_ God_.

"I –"

Clark interrupted him before he could continue with whatever he'd been about to say. "And you wouldn't have learned a damn thing about me." Realization rushed through Lex. Clark was absolutely right. All he needed to do was get a piece of the profusely scattered meteor rock, and Lex would be under his power, his control. He could do anything. Lex went cold.

He could have killed him. Clark had almost said that, hadn't he? The alien with the powers beyond that of mankind's wildest dreams wasn't invulnerable after all. And Clark could have killed him.

But he hadn't. He _hadn't_. And he never would. He would never intentionally hurt someone if he could help it. He'd told a secret that was too big, and told it to Lex, a Luthor, of all people, without permission from his parents or friends. When he could've continued to hide it. When he could've knocked Lex out with a green rock until he'd found a cure to whatever had happened to them.

"Clark –"

"I trust you. But you don't trust me. Lex, I –"

"I love you."

He hadn't meant to say it. It had simply slipped out of its own accord. _Wait! I don't love Clark! I just_… here even his own thoughts fell through. He was going to protest, to say that yes, Clark was his best friend, and yes, he was attracted to him, and yes, he made Lex feel things that he'd never felt before… but that wasn't love.

But Lex realized he didn't really know the first thing about love. Except that with Clark, it had to exist. It couldn't possibly be anything else. If the last twenty-four hours had taught him anything, it had taught him that.

Clark hadn't reacted. _He hadn't reacted_. That was a very bad sign. Lex looked up to find that Clark was at one of the windows in the hallway, looking out. He looked… Well. It was hard to look at someone so beautiful objectively. But he could see Clark profiled against the faint light of the moon, beams of it glimmering into eyes that brimmed with the faint beginnings of tears.

"Clark, I –"

"Why don't you trust me?" he asked plaintively. It was strange, that sad voice. Almost frightening. But it meant something very important. It meant that Clark hadn't heard the admission of love. Or had chosen not to acknowledge it, for the moment. Lex immediately considered that to be a relief – hoping like hell it was the former, not the latter – but realized that his heart (was he really communicating with that organ again?) was disappointed beyond belief. Yet he had other things to worry about now.

"I do trust you, Clark. And I –" abruptly, a thought struck him. "You said _green_ meteor rocks hurt you?" Clark sighed, obviously seeing this as a route out of answering him. But Lex suddenly felt as though he was on to something.

"Yes. Why?"

"Well, obviously I would have known which meteor rocks you were talking about had you failed to identify a specific colour. But you said green. Are there other types of meteor rocks?"

Clark thought about this for a moment. Obviously deciding that Lex wasn't bullshitting him (or else ignoring it if he did think so), he explained. "Remember when I was acting strange that one time, Lex? When I bought all the expensive clothes and wanted to run off with you to Metropolis and forget about Smallville?"

"Yes, I remember." Lex remembered that all right. If he hadn't been so completely sure that something was wrong with Clark, he'd have considered that very tempting offer.

"There was – I bought this class ring that was supposed to be a real jewel, but it turned out the company was trying to cut costs by using this cheap, worthless stone."

"The meteor rocks?"

"Yes. Red ones. They, umm. Well, obviously do something to my personality." His cheeks shaded a faint red.

"Has it happened since then?"

"No, I haven't run into any red meteor rocks lately, that I know of."

"That you know of." Lex said this almost to himself, scientist mind already in gear. Clark looked at skeptically.

"What are you getting at, Lex? In case you hadn't noticed, it's not so much my personality that changed as my body. And very much temporarily, at that," he added, slouching a bit.

"Well, if you've only previously been in contact with this red meteor rock once, then you have no scientific evidence demonstrating that your body will react to it the same time more than once."

"You're saying the red meteors could've done something completely different than before, like this whole body-switch? But the green ones all seem to have the same effect on me, no matter where I run into them." And that was true, as he considered the various times that Clark had seemed to lose the venerable strength and speed that he possessed, only to regain it moments later. But…

"But this red meteor could be something different. What do you know about the periodic table?" asked Lex. He knew Clark wasn't exactly in to school, even if his grades were fairly good, especially in mathematics. Super-intelligence, or something equally preposterous and yet somehow true.

"Not much." Clark looked thoughtful. "I mean, in chemistry, we talked about the elements and their different weights and masses and properties."

"Exactly. Now, even though this meteor rock is obviously not indigenous to Earth, unless there is some strange matter fluctuation between your planet and ours, the properties should follow the same basic principle." In his mind, Lex was drawing up flowcharts, and graphs, and equations, his scientific mind shifting into high gear.

"But we don't _know_ its properties, Lex, other than then fact that it can hurt me or severely mess with my personality." But Clark was obviously intrigued, judging by the way he followed intensely Lex's every word.

"Yes, but occasionally certain elements will show different properties depending on their masses. Things like heavy water, or isotopes –"

"Yeah!" he said excitedly, seeming to put aside the last few moments of awkwardness as he started to follow Lex's train of thought. "I remember reading about isotopes, and extras neutrons and things like that."

"Maybe this red meteor rock is an isotope of the green one. If so, it could be an unstable form of it, and perhaps your body has different reactions to it." It wasn't too far-fetched, Lex figured. Not in Smallville, anyway. Not when your best friend was an alien.

"That's a brilliant idea, Lex. But there is one problem."

"You don't have any red meteor rocks on you."

"Exactly. No red meteor rocks, in ring form or otherwise. And you didn't notice any strange meteors when we switched, right?" Lex considered this for a moment, then shook his head slowly, still thinking. "Not unless I was drinking them," he said, and then winced at his own stupidity as Clark's face became carefully blank.

_Be brilliant, Lex. Clark expects it of you_.

"Clark, if you are near the green meteor rock, and then it is taken away from you, do the weakening effects last?" he asked.

"Only for a little while, most of the time. It depends on how much there is."

"Or maybe on how concentrated it is," Lex murmured.

"What do you mean?"

Lex considered the best way to explain it. "Well, theoretically, let's say you came in to contact with some of the red meteor rocks. If they were very volatile, perhaps the effect would be longer-lasting on you then the regular green ones."

"So you're saying that if and when I touched a red meteor rock, I might have separated from it and yet the effect would keep going for, I don't know, however long it was between me coming into contact with the meteor rock and last night."

"Exactly. So we've got to find that meteor rock, before you accidentally come into contact with it again, and this switch happens. Or something worse." Clark nodded, straightening back up, his eyes focused. Maybe he was looking through the walls, Lex didn't know. Then he turned to look at Lex.

"You have sort of a one-track mind when it comes to science," he said softly.

"I have a one-track mind when it comes to you," Lex said bluntly. Hell, why the fuck not? He'd already admitted to loving Clark. The hard part wouldn't come until Clark decided to mention that fact. Because even if he was attracted to Lex, wanted to – to date Lex, or whatever they called it at his age, there were still about a million non-scientific problems to consider. Like Lana. Both of their parents. The laws of the state.

But he was willing to put aside those problems for the moment, what with Clark's arms around him again, holding him tight to that rapidly-beating alien heart. Clark drew back just a little, until they were face to face. If there were more than a couple of inches between their mouths, Lex would jump off of the top of the Daily Planet. Clark smiled, but this was a different smile than Lex had ever seen; it wasn't bright and innocent, or cynical, or sad. It was sexy as hell, is what it was.

_God don't let me react like a teenager oh God please don't let me react like a teenager_.

"I suppose we have that in common," Clark replied, and if his voice didn't match his smile… Lex was about to explode. Literally, just explode from everything that had happened. But if he didn't explode, he was going to have one hell of a hard-on to explain away.

"You – you're acting awfully, ah, assured, all things considered."

_Yeah, Lex. That'll put him in his place. _

Clark's nose wrinkled a little with barely-concealed mirth, marring that sexy-smooth face that he had obviously gotten from Lex, dammit, that was Lex's seduction face and he knew it!

"Well, you did say you loved me," Clark said, his smile turning a bit – evil, but he quickly kept going, probably to keep Lex from playing the game of denial. "And what you said just now – proved it, I think. So I don't have to pretend not to want you."

Lex knew intrinsically that his asthma was gone, had been gone for years. But that didn't stop him from feeling short of breath, and feel his heart start to pound in the same strangely fast rhythm as Clark's. He had heard. He had heard, and waited, and Lex had passed the test of – of true love, or some such nonsensical schoolboy fantasy that Clark still had. But he found that he didn't mind, that much.

"Neither of us," he replied, his voice pitching lower to match Clark's, "have to pretend any more." And with that, he pressed his mouth firmly to Clark's, giving way to temptation, leaving all other thoughts behind for another time and another place far away from the here and the now.


	15. Chapter 15

**SUMMARY**: Chapter Fifteen : All that's left is to find the red meteor rock (if indeed that caused this whole fiasco), and deal with Clark's parents.

Lex would just as soon climb Mount Everest naked.

**WARNINGS**: Rated Teen for language and sexuality. Veers into the realm of AU after the episode "Red" from Season 2. Because I just – LOVE red kryptonite!

**DISCLAIMER**: So many people own Superman and Smallville that I don't even know where to begin. We'll just sweepingly say Siegel and Shuster, DC Comics, and the show's creators. It's this twisted copyright situation, anyway. But I'm not making any money of them, rest assured. Just – playing with them. In my mind. It's not _my_ fault they picked Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum, eh!

**AUTHOR NOTES**: My version of red kryptonite varies from the show's use. In comic canon, red kryptonite causes a different reaction each time Superman/Clark is exposed to it, and the results typically last 24 to 48 hours.

**AUTHOR NOTES (2)**: Final chapter (i.e. epilogue…)! Oh, my god, it's over! Over! Praise the Lord!

* * *

**Slant**

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen  
Epilogue**

"D'ya think that we could maybe, umm, kiss again soon?" Lex cracked a smile and glanced at Clark as they drove along the road toward the Kent farm. Granted, "driving" could barely be applied to what Lex was doing, as he had settled at a leisurely, if somewhat unsteady pace of twenty miles an hour, one hand dealing with shifting, the other casually running its slim fingers over any of Clark's skin that he could reach. He occasionally used his knees to turn the steering wheel.

"Would you save me if we crashed?" he replied mischievously, worming his hand beneath Clark's t-shirt to rush teasingly along his abdomen, garnering an unexpected laugh from the other man.

"Ticklish," he explained, with a shrug and a brilliant smile.

"Aliens can be ticklish?"

"This one can." Clark wrinkled his nose in a nauseatingly adorable manner, seemingly embarrassed at his little secret. Lex, whose glances toward the other man had grown increasingly frequent, nearly missed his exit as he watched Clark's multitude of adorable expressions. He was a sixteen-year-old male, for chrisakes! How did he still manage 'cute'?

It could, he supposed, have had something to do with the alien thing. More, on second thought, to do with the Kent thing. He could add that to the ever-increasing list of traits he had somehow garnered from his human parents, along with the bravery, honesty, trustworthiness and a strong will (also known as stubbornness).

"And you?" Lex smiled.

"You'll have to discover for yourself." His fingers moved steadily upward, skating over Clark's muscles, softly grazing a nipple. Clark sucked in a deep breath, suddenly feeling skittish. His hand reached under his shirt to grasp Lex's and hold it within the warmth of his palm. Lex grasped it firmly back, then removed his hand.

"How do you do that?" Clark gasped out.

"What?" Lex replied coyly. "Do what?"

"So, so casually. You just – you're driving!" Lex smirked, and put both hands on the wheel.

"Not well. You distract me. I can hardly look forward for a minute before you make me touch you. Are you sure that isn't one of your powers?" Clark raised his eyebrows, then reached forward to gently take Lex's right hand off of the wheel and bring it up to gaze at it quizzically. He pulled off the leather glove gently to reveal the unbroken flesh beneath it, and kissed the palm. Lex took his hand back slowly. "What was that for?"

Clark grinned. "I'm not the only one with powers." Lex glanced down at his hand, not understanding. Clark shook his head. "You –" he hesitated. He could tell Lex now, but surely Lex already knew of his own ability, of how quickly he could heal. Knew, or would soon know. "Your power is that you… you make me want you." He felt himself blushing, and looked away out the window. The barn seemed to approach from nowhere, and he studied it anxiously, a huge monster in the darkness of a clear Kansas night. Beyond the barn was the house, and within it was Clark's dad. It was very nearly a terrifying thought. As it was now, the prospect of talking to his dad was, at the moment, merely frightening. "More than I ever wanted anyone else."

Lex kept himself from replying for the moment. That Clark could have such candor when he no longer felt the need to hide anything made Lex feel strangely happy in a way that he had not felt since before he had lost his baby brother, years and years behind him. Maybe this was all just a convoluted, barely-to-be-believed dream, but as long as it engulfed him completely and he never woke up, he was just fine with that.

"I think I can live with that power," Lex finally murmured in reply. "But I feel – guilty." Clark looked at him quizzically.

"Guilty?"

"You have this faith in me that sometimes I can't understand in the least. Not when there are – others – who would be better for you, others who are better people than I am. The things I've done, the things I'm capable of doing…"

Clark interrupted him. "Think about the things I'm capable of doing, Lex. I could hurt people. I mean, not even on purpose. Not bad people. Just people. If I didn't control it. And sometimes I don't con –"

He was swiftly cut off by Lex's mouth on his own, stifling his words, drowning them out in favor of a querulous tongue that didn't want to hear it just now, which instead felt like another taste of sickeningly sweet Kansas farmboy, even if said Kansas farmboy was really an alien from another planet. So maybe Lex was a xenophile with a bit of a fetish as far as Clark was concerned. Wouldn't be the first strange thing he'd discovered about himself. Certainly not the last.

Clark kissed Lex back, feeling relieved beyond compare. He hoped he wasn't a clumsy kisser, or an outright bad one, but he could always blame it on his alien heritage. Jor-El probably hadn't been a good kisser either. But that didn't really matter at the moment. First of all, Lex certainly hadn't complained yet. Secondly, Lex wasn't scared of Clark. He was still his friend. He was still his friend and omygod that _hand_ was back up his shirt and touching everywhere wait there were two hands now and the other one was tracing trails up his _thigh_…

It took a few moments for Clark to become lucid enough to realize that neither of Lex's hands were participating in the driving, and a few more moments to realize that they should have crashed, and finally it dawned on him that the car was no longer moving. No, it wasn't, but the occupants were certainly moving, because Clark's hands obviously had their own set of brains and were very much engaged in mimicking Lex's motions in regard to bodily touching, and even though he'd never found himself to be particularly graceful with his left hand it was very easily undoing the buttons of Lex's shirt.

They were making out. They were _making out_ in Lex's Ferrari, which was, granted, a small and rather uncomfortable car, especially for someone of Clark's size, but certainly he didn't mind when Lex's mouth left his and proceeded to press wet kisses interchanged with occasional sucking down the side of his throat. And maybe Clark couldn't get hickeys but Lex certainly seemed willing to test out that theory.

Then it seemed to occur to both of them just where Lex had stopped his car, and just how much might be visible to a person watching from outside the car. They sprang apart, and Lex found himself looking straight at the bright red side of the Kent's barn. Clark blinked, and found that he was looking at the road. Neither of them could see the house.

Clark let out a breath he didn't realize that he'd been holding. "That is what I call good luck."

"We seem to get more than our fair share of it," said Lex, feeling the racing of his heart and struggling not to give in to a sudden panic attack. It was one thing to know hypothetically that his young male (lover?)'s parents knew that there was something going on between them, but it was quite another thing to realize that they had been _this close_ to being shot at by Jonathan Kent from the window of his cheery yellow farmhouse.

"So we've agreed that switching bodies wasn't necessarily bad luck?" Clark wheedled out, grinning.

"Aside from the arguments, headaches, hangovers, and pizza intake…" Clark looked at him expectantly. Lex pursed his lips and pretended to consider, tapping his chin with one finger until Clark rolled his eyes and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "…yes."

"That's what I thought."

"You're teasing me."

"Can't I?" Clark asked, then leaned over to press a chaste kiss to Lex's cheek. "You always used to tease me, didn't you?"

"How? When?"

Clark laughed. "Don't pretend to be innocent, Lex. It doesn't suit you. And neither does that pout." Lex relaxed his face instantly, embarrassed to have been caught doing something as childish as pouting over an insult. Not that it was truly an insult. Innocent suited him the way Gucci would suit Jonathan Kent.

"Fine," he conceded. "But how did I tease?"

Clark raised an eyebrow, looking surprisingly Lex-like. "How I ever got away with not _doing_ something about all those _looks_ you gave me, I'll never know…" The side of Lex's mouth twitched at Clark's dramatics. "Need I mention the blue bottles, the pool sticks, the sword…"

Well. He had been teasing, hadn't he? But he'd never thought Clark would be the type to notice. But spending such – strange – quality time with one's best friend tended to reveal things that usually were kept hidden. Like Clark's ability to be seductive. Or how his eyes changed colour depending on his mood. Or what it felt like to be Clark.

Not normal in the least. But Lex was fairly sure he could live with that. Then Clark very cautiously, very lightly, kissed the hollow of his throat, and he was forced to amend his answer. He was _definitely_ sure he could live with that.

"Don't distract me, we need to get inside, check your room for meteor rocks…" And that was a large, warm hand pressed to his chest, running down it teasingly? When had his shirt been totally unbuttoned, again? He forced himself to grab Clark's wrist and hold it as tight as he could, which, granted, was pretty damn tight, but Clark wasn't going to get hurt from it, now was he? "I'm serious, you insatiable alien…"

"I'll stop, just as soon as you take that hand off of my thigh." Lex cursed, but relented enough to lift his hand off of Clark's jean-clad leg. Slightly. Clark chuckled, and wrinkled his nose again. Lex valiantly struggled not to kiss him. This was ridiculous. He hadn't acted like such a lovesick teenager since he – well, to be perfectly honest, he had never acted like a lovesick teenager. Before it had been all about the sex, just how far would people go with him while he was how young, just because he was a Luthor, or how much power could he get with this fuck or that one.

He sighed. Eventually Clark would have to know about everything. Whether or not he wanted to know. But for now, he could retreat into the bliss of knowing that for this period of time, no matter how brief or long it turned out to be, he could revel in this precious alien farmboy's love.

Then he remembered what they were supposed to be doing. It would probably be a brief relationship at best, considering that somewhere beyond the sheltering barn lay Jonathan Kent, and surely he had some sort of weapon in his vicinity capable of gelding one Lex Luthor. "I suppose…" (who knew it took so much courage to face a boyfriend's father?) "we should go inside."

"Mm-hmm," Clark murmured in agreement. "Probably."

It was another five minutes before either of them spoke another word. The sky had fully darkened, and in true Kansas middle-of-nowhere fashion, there was a dazzling array of white pinpoints of light. Clark looked thoughtfully up at them, wondering where in the universe he had been born. Lex looked at the stars reflected in Clark's eyes, and wondered how in the world the most perfect being in all of existence had happened to manage to land here, in Smallville, in his arms. It was almost stupidly romantic, the fodder of romance-comedy he wouldn't be caught dead seeing. In public.

Clark breathed in, then out. Sometime, this had to be faced. And as tempting as it was to hide in Lex's car making out for the rest of the night, he needed to face his parents again, with Lex. So they could see that he wasn't going to give this up. And meanwhile, they might be able to find the source of their switch in the first place. He opened the door and stepped out into the night, which had grown much chillier. Or maybe it was just that the car had been so… hot. He blushed.

Lex stepped out of the car as well, closing it behind him with a loud, resounding sound that somehow reminded him of a man's head being chopped off by the swift, deadly blade of a guillotine. What was your crime, sir? _Touching Jonathan Kent's son_. "Clark, tell me I don't look like I'm about to be ravished." Clark surveyed him and resisted the urge to laugh and gape simultaneously.

Lex, who normally looked so unflustered and calm that he could be a pale marble statue, had flushed streaks of red across his cheeks, down his throat, and even in a broad swathe across his chest, which was half-exposed by the buttons undone beneath Clark's unconsciously questing fingers. And he was smiling, a radiant sort of smile that Clark had never seen before. He drank in the sight of it. _I did that_, he told himself. _Me_.

"You, umm, don't look like you're about to be ravished." Lex raised a slender eyebrow.

"Now is not the time to be untruthful, Clark." Clark shrugged innocently.

"I'm telling you what you want to be told." He stepped up to Lex, so close that the shorter man shivered involuntarily. "But, to tell the truth, you look like you've been ravished." He leaned until his mouth was a hair's breadth away from touching Lex's ear. "By me." Then he stepped back, shoved his hands into his pockets, and laughed.

"Tease." He button his shirt closed, straightened the collar, and smoothed his slacks, all with his normal efficiently, only slightly marred by the looks he kept casting at Clark, who, for all appearances, was as innocent as always. If it weren't for the already fading blush across his cheekbones and his mussed hair (which spent most of its time being mussed anyway), he would have looked like he'd had just another typical Smallville day. Which, considering the town, could hardly be considered typical in the least, as it tended to involve crazed teenagers, mutant powers, meteorite showers, kidnappings, arson, hypnotism, and, apparently, switching bodies with your best friend.

"As if," the younger man replied, in a very teenager-ish manner. He turned and began to stride toward the house. His confidant movement notwithstanding, Lex knew he was nervous. Clark tended to hide his nervousness behind his smiles. Lex ran to catch up with him, taking his large hand and squeezing it briefly in reassurance. Clark flashed him that should-be-trademarked bright smile and squeezed back.

Then they were at the front of the house. Clark opened the screen door, then stopped suddenly and blinked disbelievingly. Lex peered over his shoulder, his eyes immediately focusing on a note pinned to the door.

_Sweetheart, _

_Your father and I are taking a drive -- we should be back before midnight. _

_Know that we love you dearly and always will, and that we trust in your decision to confide in Lex. _

_We'll talk more when we get home. _

_Love, _

_Mom and Dad _

"Good luck?" Lex whispered, amazed. _We trust in your decision_, it said. To tell _him_. To tell a Luthor.

"Way too much good luck. I'm expecting a tornado any time now." Clark opened the door and tentatively stepped inside. True to their word, the house was empty and quiet and peaceful. Lex surveyed it, wondering if he could ever really belong in this place. He looked to Clark, whose bright mega-watt smile had become more of a glowing sort of happy calm. As long as Clark could still smile like that, he supposed that he would always belong, at least in the farmboy's eyes.

"I'd settle for a hailstorm," Lex replied. "Should we check around the house?" Clark nodded, his face already squinted up as he scanned the house with his x-ray vision. Lex opted for the more traditional method of looking beneath and behind furniture, wandering around slowly and admiring in a way he never had before just how much this house reflected _home_.

Maybe his home. Maybe. Someday.

For the next hour and a half, the two continued their search throughout and around the house, which had never seemed so vast before. Before, of course, they were not looking for their proverbial needle in the haystack, a red piece of rock able to cause a phenomenon that was beginning to seem more and more surreal and impossible as time went on; some sort of mutant alien substance that could cause instantaneous change through time and space.

Given, of course, that Lex's theory was correct.

Which it might not be, given he had been extrapolating heavily at the time.

And he had been drinking a great deal the night before.

"The only place we haven't checked is my room," said Clark, frowning.

Lex considered this for a moment. "When did you fall asleep last night, Clark?" Clark looked thoughtful. He'd already told Lex about his unnatural tiredness after the forest affair, as the older man had called it during a bout of sophistication, and they were planning on going there the following morning if the Kent house didn't offer up any answers. Clark had wanted to look tonight, but even with x-ray vision, it would have been difficult to navigate both himself and Lex without them both ending up dead out in the woods.

"Around nine-ish, I think." Lex blinked.

"Strange. About the time that my drunken stupor – " Clark gave him a look, and he amended. "I mean, that's about when I fell asleep. Perhaps the effect of the red meteorite triggered it… that would explain our, for lack of a better word, co-sleepiness." Clark smiled at that distinctively un-scientific name. "And it would also place the lasting effect of said meteorite at approximately the length of my circadian rhythm." The younger man raised his eyebrows, perplexed. "My body's natural cycle of day and night is slightly less than normal peoples', about twenty-four hours rather than twenty-five," Lex clarified.

"That's mine as well. I remember circadian rhythms from bio class, you know. I thought I was just abnormal. Then I thought it was because I was an alien." He gave Lex an appraising glance. "I guess we're just both strange."

Lex smiled. "Affirmative." He managed an incredibly dorky salute, causing Clark to snort. "And if the meteorite is attuned to that, then maybe its effect as an isotope is connected to circadian rhythms. Or, at least your circadian rhythm. Maybe that's why it affected me as well, because I have the same one as an, ah, alien species."

"Or maybe it's 'cause we're connected?" Clark suggested, taking Lex's hand.

It was all getting rather too romantic, but neither Lex nor Clark felt like asserting their masculinity at the moment. Besides, as Clark had said, they were simply strange. And connected. Whatever was right for them didn't apply in the normal world.

"Right." His thumb was absently caressing the back of Clark's hand, but that was alright. "I… guess we should check up in the bedroom."

"Want to head up there now?" Then Clark seemed to realize what he was suggesting, released Lex's hand, and flushed red. Slightly red. He was obviously already growing accustomed to the implications of a relationship with Lex Luthor, one that had a very strong element of attraction in it. 'Strong element of attraction' being the nice, parentally-appropriate phrase, as opposed to other phrases that Lex might use on any given day (or night) to describe the physical portion of what he felt for one Clark Kent.

Like hormonally charged sex-driven totally unbridled lust.

"Let's, ah, check it out, shall we?" Lex led the way up to the room where, over a day ago, he had woken up to discover himself in the body of his best friend. It looked just as he had left it – the clothes strewn about, closet open, bed with its flannel coverings mussed. He found that he was considering it fondly, and smiled to himself. As the two began to search, Lex considered what was probably the luckiest day of his life.

For everything that had happened, he was glad. If it took switching bodies and seeing the world at a slant to bring him together with Clark, hell, he'd gladly do it again.

He'd do a lot for Clark.

Anything, even.

It took him several moments to realize that he'd said that out loud (it was becoming a rather disturbing habit, this saying what he was thinking); but the biggest hint had to be Clark's arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind, embracing him. He imagined that their hearts were beating in unison, nearly dismissed it as utterly fanciful, then decided he could stand to live in this fantasy a little longer.

"You hide the way you really are so much of the time, Lex," Clark murmured into his ear. "Who knew you could be so romantic?"

"Who knew you could be so affectionate?" Lex retorted. Clark turned him around in his arms so they were facing one another, Clark leaning down the slightest bit to bump his nose against Lex's.

"You know."

"Just me?" Despite the levity in his tone, Lex was serious. He'd never really considered a true-blue honest-to-god no-fucking-around monogamous relationship before, but then again, a beautiful alien before had never propositioned him, either.

Clark's answer was a swift, wet kiss. When he drew back, his eyes had gone a stunning shade of ocean blue. "Just you. Destiny, remember?" He smiled, and licked his lips, eyes shimmering back to their normal hazel.

Lex tried to remind himself that he was in his – boyfriend's – bedroom, in a house owned by a couple of parents who would not be thrilled by the idea of their underage, non-human son entering into a relationship with a Luthor (and a male one at that), and they could be back at any time, and wouldn't it just be the end of his life if they walked in on the two of them getting into some serious hanky-panky in Clark's bed?

_Fuck it_, he thought to himself. _I'll die happy_.

He pulled Clark suddenly, overbalancing both of them and sending them tumbling onto his bed, which creaked and groaned ominously. Or so Lex imagined, but as he couldn't hear the bed's noises over their own moans, it didn't really matter.

Despite the fact that Clark was overwhelmingly horny right now, and back in his normal, larger, stronger body, he still conceded the position of top to his more experienced, and very persuasive bed partner. He told himself that they weren't going to have sex, not here, not now, but Lex seemed intent on performing acts probably considered illegal in this state, even if it wasn't _technically_ hitting a home run, as his schoolmates might have put it.

Funny thing. Clark had never had a fondness for baseball before today.

Lex's mouth was somewhere in the vicinity of Clark's lower abdomen when he started to feel a bit… funny. Of course, he'd been feeling "funny" for the last, oh, eight hours. But that was a nice type of funny that had a lot to do with the state of his pants. This type of funny was sort of like the tiredness he'd felt last night. Grasping Lex's shoulders and lifting him off of his stomach (though his very talented tongue managed to take one last swipe of Clark's belly), he gazed around intently, wondering if they had somehow missed the kryptonite.

Of course, given their rather passionate state, they hadn't been as focused on looking for the meteor rock as they _could_ have been.

Lex was puzzled, but only for a few moments. Then his head began to ache, the way it had when he'd woken up more than half a day ago in Clark's bed. He massaged his temples, cursing. Clark smoothed one hand down Lex's back in comfort, then swiftly pulled the sheets nearly off of the bed with one hand, the pillows in another. No red meteor rock. He glanced around again, and as the feeling of strange lightness/sleepiness/whatever-ness within him grew, he suddenly had an epiphany.

"Under the bed," he muttered. Looking decidedly less than dignified, he edged up until his waist was adjacent with the side of the bed, and ducked himself down, pulling up the sheets and glancing beneath the bed. There was something glowing a soft red beneath it, and unthinkingly, he reached out for it.

"Clark, whatever it is, don't grab –"

But Clark already had it in his hand. He pulled himself back up and stared stupidly at the glowing rock in his hand for a long moment, before throwing it out of the (thankfully open) window. Immediately the strange feeling faded, and he turned to look back at Lex, smiling brightly.

"I think that proves your theory was right." Then he really _looked_ at Lex, and gaped.

Sitting before him was still Lex… sort of. The eyes, icy blue-gray, were right, and they had a strange mixture of fury and lust in them. But as to the rest of him –

He was smaller, for one thing. His ears seemed to stick out more, his nose looked too pointy and his eyes were too wide for his face, his clothes were large and wrinkled all around him, and he seemed inclined toward a pout. His entire aura, rather than the normal seductive, dangerous essence that he normally radiated, instead was a mixture of anger and awkwardness.

In short, he looked like a sixteen-year-old boy.

Clark was laughing before he could tell himself to shut up. Lex scowled and crossed his arms, which only served to heighten his high school aged appearance. Then Clark seemed to realize what this meant, and jumped up off the bed, jogging over to his closet and staring at himself in the mirror.

The last lines of childhood were gone from his face, which looked leaner and sharper and, he had to admit to himself, sexier. His hair looked longer and more styled; framing his face instead of distracting from it, and his eyes seemed to waver even as he looked at them between hazel and blue. He was slightly taller, too, perhaps six four. But the tightness of his clothes only emphasized his more muscular form.

In short, he looked like a twenty two year old man.

He turned to look back at Lex. "Well, at least we know you're right." (Was his voice lower, or was it only his imagination?) "It does seem to be an, umm, isotope. But if you're right about the circadian rhythm thing, this should only last twenty-four hours, yeah?" If it was possible, Lex scowled even more. Clark grinned. "I'm gonna enjoy this."

Then he heard the footsteps in the hallway, and froze as he looked back at the mirror and saw the reflection of his parents in the doorway. Martha looked shocked, while Jonathan, who was fixed on Lex, seemed to struggle between anger and laughter.

Clark managed to turn around and face them. Neither was holding a weapon, which seemed to be a good sign. Jonathan's mouth moved, but no words came out. Martha was the first to manage any words, but the only thing she could think to say was "I don't believe this."

"Mrs. Kent," Lex slowly began, and cursed his slightly higher pitched voice, which lacked its normal smooth, calm assuredness. "We can assure you that this is only – ah, temporary…"

Clark hurriedly agreed, speaking even as Lex did. "The red meteor rock is an isotope, and it does something different every time, but it'll – I mean, the circadian – rhythm…" he trailed off in unison with Lex.

They were _laughing_. Jonathan and Martha Kent were bowled over, laughing as if they'd heard the best joke in the world delivered by the funniest comedian in the universe. Clark started toward the two, then backed away from them, as they were reaching a point of near-hysteria. Instead he went to sit beside Lex, one arm snaking out to encircle the now much smaller man around the waist. The two of them stared in total shock at the scene before them, totally silent.

It was Jonathan Kent who, this time, came up with air first. "It's just," he wheezed out, "Martha and I were talking, and –" he glanced at his wife, and they had another bout of laughing.

"The thing, sweetheart," said Martha Kent, "that we were both the most concerned about with this – this relationship – was the – the – age difference!"

Clark and Lex looked at each other, but neither of them could find any words. Clark shrugged, and leaned over to softly (and very chastely, because who were they kidding? It was still Jonathan Kent sitting in here in front of them, fit of temporary insanity or no) kiss Lex. He pulled back, and studied the younger visage before him, head at a slant, smiling. "At least they can't say _you're_ taking advantage of _me_ in this relationship. In the next twenty-four hours, anyway."

"Clark, I don't think they can say much of anything about this relationship, next twenty-four hours or no. It's pretty damn near indescribable."

"Face it, Lex – you like it this way."

Lex studied the older visage before him, head at a slant, smiling. "Let's just say, if this is all a dream… don't ever wake me up."

**FIN **


End file.
